


Starry, Starry Night

by xxSterre



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Art, Artist AU, Artist!Harry, Fine Arts, Graffiti, M/M, Painting, StreetArtist!Louis, accidental encounter, barista!louis, graffiti au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:04:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSterre/pseuds/xxSterre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Artist AU based on a tumblr prompt by youngandmadeof. </p><p>AU where Harry’s getting a degree in fine arts but he’s always envied street artists their freedom and the thrill coming from illegal activity. One day, he notices a particular graffiti and decides to paint into it.<br/>Louis does graffiti. One day, somebody starts messing with his murals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mydrtylilsecret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydrtylilsecret/gifts).



> I apologize for any spelling mistakes, any British culture mistakes as I am not from Britain but stubbornly still wanted to have this take place in London. It'll probably be about 20 chapters, but I'm not entirely sure yet as I'm still editing some parts! I also want to give all the credit to youngandmadeof for coming up with the idea, I'm just writing it out and I hope you like this. This is my first work on here so please overwhelm me with constructive criticism and comments - I want to learn!
> 
> Update: I've recently started using tumblr more actively, so [come say hi there](https://goodmorningtoyouuniverse.tumblr.com) if you want :)

 

  © youngandmadeof

* * *

 

“Harry, you can’t change your concept again,” Mr. Barts said with a disappointing lilt to his voice.

Somewhat ashamed, Harry nodded his head, but opened his mouth to explain in a desperate attempt to get what he wanted. Of course he understood that changing the entire concept of his final piece for the sculpture class was…reckless, but if anything Harry was a perfectionist. And he couldn’t help but having been inspired by something new he’d come across overnight.  

‘I just want this to be everything what I envisioned it to be and more, professor. You know I would never try to make things difficult for you on purpose,’ he tried, using his perfect reputation and throwing in his charming personality for good measure.

Mister Barts’ posture softened somewhat at that, shaking his head once before sighing deeply. “Harry, you only have one week left to fulfill the assignment – that’s hardly enough time to sculpt a piece of the required measurements. You’ve already come to me twice with different ideas; you have to learn that at one point you will sometimes have to settle. I’m sorry, but I have to be fair towards the others, and I have to protect you from yourself. I don’t want to see you fail already in the first term of your final year, just because you couldn’t finish the project. So you’ll have to stick with your previously handed in concept,” he said with an air of finality that let Harry know he’d definitely lost the battle on this one.

With a slump to his shoulders, Harry lifted his head to nod once, before muttering something about another class as he left the room of Professor Barts. He loved his classes, but sometimes he hated having to follow a tight curriculum with a set syllabus. When he had decided to study fine arts, Harry had envisioned himself painting and photographing and just doing whatever he wanted the way he thought would work best. He'd thought about experimenting, about crossing over different styles, he’d thought about limitless, endless possibilities.

But Fine Arts School was different; especially at Camberwell College of Art, one of the oldest fine arts colleges in the UK. It was prestigious, it was competitive, and most of all, it was strict. Creativity was celebrated, but within the fine lines of the set-up year plan. And he understood there were certain skills he needed to learn, certain areas of art he had to explore even if he wouldn’t have veered into it on his own – but he liked that. And he knew that having a degree would certainly be helpful in an already extremely poor job market , especially for artists. But he couldn’t help but sometimes experience this sense of a nagging feeling; a voice telling him that art was something you couldn’t learn, it was something you had to undergo, had to let it wash over you and surrender to it and let the creative thoughts take over your mind until one came drifting to the surface, letting you know that was _it_.

Today apparently was not the moment to let _it_ shine, and to be honest, Harry had enough of other course requirements he still had to think of before mourning the loss of his latest project idea. He’d just have to write it down in his journal so he could do it on his own. His good credit had given him access to a lot of advantages and privileges, including using the studios after the school had closed. It had given him the opportunity to finish whatever he couldn’t get done during the day and just experiment.

However, he would only be able to continue doing so if he got his credit up for sculpting. As much as Harry tried, it just wasn’t his cup of tea. In an attempt to better himself at it, or maybe just a flagrant form of masochism– he had signed up for the extra classes Mister Barts was offering. He could definitely use the extra credit for sculpture, and he’d been intrigued by the simplistic nature of making contemporary styled sculptures with bronzes. Yet, perhaps he’d taken on a bit too much. He still had to finish his analysis of Bukowski and he had yet to start on selecting sepia portraits for his photography class focused on the work of Julia Margaret Cameron.

He loved it though. Loved art, every single shape of it. Which is why Harry never failed to make his way past the busiest street in London where street artists were trying to make their living out of their passion. It didn’t take him long at all to hear his favorite busker croon out some songs, and surely there he saw the frosted blonde tips of Niall’s hair peeking out of where he was stood in the midst of a crowd. Just in time to hear the final last notes fading away, Harry immediately started clapping and the people surrounding him soon followed as he stepped closer to Niall, dramatically throwing in a hand of coins.

“Thank you thank you people, I’m afraid that’s all for today. Same time, same place tomorrow, alright?” Niall said good-naturedly, smiling his best charming smile to all who were dropping money in his hat. As the final onlookers drifted onwards, his gaze settled on Harry.

“So who pissed in your cereal?” Niall asked brusquely, making Harry guffaw at his directness. It shouldn’t have surprised him from his Irish friend, but it still caught him off-balance. He hadn’t noticed that his foul mood had translated onto his face – then again, he was probably the worst actor to ever exist.

 ‘Just wasn’t allowed to change my concept ‘s all. You know how I wanted to capture the boundless nature of art? And like, ironically, I’m bound my time constraints and my professor who doesn’t want to see me choke on this project. So now I’m stuck with my old one – which was fine too, just a bit more cliché you know.’

“But wasn’t that your third concept already? And it’s not cliché – I think the birds are a great idea.’

‘I know, I know – I just got really intrigued by the whole nautical theme. And he’s right, I wouldn’t have had enough time to finish it – I’d have to start from scratch and I’ve already selected materials for the birds’ sculpture so it was solid advice, but still,’ Harry relented. Niall just nodded sagely as if he knew all about the struggles of Arts College, although he’d gone straight into busking after secondary school.

“Alright, what you need, is a nice beer paid for by yours truly at our favourite pub,” he offered, slinging an arm over Harry’s shoulders as he led him in the right direction.

‘It’s not you that’s paying, it’s that man’s pocket money you just stole out of his coat – Niall!’ Harry chastised, although he couldn’t help but feel the slight thrill of having witnessed the moment of indiscretion and illegality.

“Pish posh, his coat was Burberry – he won’t miss a cent of it. Probably never uses it, only his company credit card,” Niall said with an indifferent shrug, before stepping into the pub and shouting for their usual order.

‘It’s not even 4 yet and you’re already here ordering Guinness? That bad or that good?’ Liam grinned at them from behind the bar, eyes crinkling as he curiously waited for their answer.

Harry couldn’t help but smile back at his friend, ‘I think Niall and I balance each other out today.’

With that said, Niall’s head suddenly whipped around and his eyes grew comically large as he made an o-shape with his mouth. “I completely forgot to tell you! I got this incredibly fit bird’s number, name’s Barbara and she’s a right model.”

‘You reckon she’s an actual model?’ Liam butted in once more as he slapped their pints down in front of them.

Niall nodded enthusiastically, “yeah buddy. She’s getting signed – that’s why she was in London at all today. She’s from Hungary, I think she said. Man she was beautiful.”

‘Well, if she ever wants to practice, I’m in desperate need for a model for one of my photography classes,’ Harry thoughtfully added, only half-joking as the anxiety once again encroached him of being torn between these feelings of both wanting to finish and fearing to never complete his studies in Fine Arts. Maybe his Mum had been right in warning him that it was a risky thing to turn what he loved into his work. _“I just don’t want you to start despising the thing you love most. Art is an escape for you Harry and I know you’re bloody good in creating beauty out of the most mundane things. I want you to cherish that ability, and I want you to continue loving that. If it becomes your job, I don’t want it to consume you until you hate it.”_

But then there was also the majority of the people adhering to the advice of ‘if you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life.’ And he loved Fine Arts, he just didn’t really like college. So he’d work his way through it, get his degree and then finally belong to the greater world of artists out there.

“No, you are not allowed to ask her anything. Girls always like you best,” Niall said sourly, taking another sip of beer before turning towards the stage at the back of the pub and looking at it longingly.

Harry gasped, raising his hands in indignation. ‘I can’t help that! And I’m not even straight! Barking up the wrong tree, Niall.’ Liam laughed at the discussion, before shaking his head and moving towards another end of the bar where he was being signaled by one of the patrons.

He shrugged, no longer invested in the conversation as his focus trailed back to Harry. “Hey, do you reckon there’s anyone playing tonight?”

‘What you actually mean to ask me is, “do you reckon I’ll get away by setting up on stage as if I’m supposed to play there tonight”, don’t you?’ Harry said with a fond tone of exasperation laced through his voice, already sliding of his bar stool so he could help Niall set up.

“I never said such a thing, but that is a wonderful suggestion – one that asks for empirical testing,” Niall answered with a mischievous grin, before skipping over onto the stage and getting his guitar out of its case.

Harry snuck a glance back at the bar, and couldn’t help but smile at the perplexed look Liam was giving them, before he shook his head at the two of them and just waved them off – which Harry took as silent permission. It took them a couple of minutes to plug in the guitar properly and get a microphone set up and working, but as soon as it did, Niall was off charming the crowd.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, my name is Niall Horan and I’m Irish, which means I bring good luck. In my case, good luck will come to you by me providing you with a beautiful evening by playing you some songs.”

………

“I think I’m my own good luck charm! I just got a card! A proper actual business card from an actual A&R agent at the same label as Ed Sheeran! Pinch me Liam, before my supermodel girlfriend and my record deal ride off together into the sunset of my dreams without me!” Niall exclaimed, before letting himself fall into Liam’s arms who had surprisingly good reflexes as he hoisted Niall back upright.

‘I think what you need is not so much a pinch, but a glass of water. We gotta sober you up.’

Harry laughed, as he regarded bulky Liam struggling with an incredibly drunk Niall who kept insisting his Irish blood would keep him sober regardless of the amount of Guinness and tequila and Jägerbombs he’d had.

‘Hey Harry, I’m going to take this one with me – it’s much closer than his or your place and I’m not going to make any of us pay for an outrageously expensive cab. You can go home if you want to,’ Liam said warmly.

Obviously Harry’s drooping eyelids hadn’t been as unnoticeable as he’d hoped they’d be. So he opted for giving Liam a grateful, somewhat embarrassed nod, before heading out of the pub that was almost a second home to him and Niall. 

“Thanks Li, see you later yeah? Take care Nialler,” Harry added as he stopped shortly to take out some cash as payment for the drinks.

Liam always said that they needn’t worry about it, but he always felt bad and ended up paying at least half of the costs. They might be artists, but he wasn’t poor by any means. He could afford it, and he knew that despite Liam’s protests, his actual boss didn’t really like the preferential treatment Harry and Niall received on a regular basis.

It was pretty nice outside still, the October cold not yet having settled in, so he didn’t have to worry about the lack of a scarf as he made his way towards Southbank. You see, there was a reason for Harry’s exhaustion and his creative outbursts happening to him overnight. It had all started the week before college had started again. He’d decided to leave Holmes Chapel early to settle into his new studio and to make use of the exceptionally nice late summer days in London to photograph.

And then one day he’d stumbled across a street art tour. He hadn’t been able to resist and had silently trudged alongside the group of tourists scouring the walls of London for an original artpiece by Banksy. He’d never been on Harry’s radar, but he had been ever since that tour. Or to be honest, graffiti artists in general. The woman had said during the tour that the same district was still highly frequented by street artists, albeit at night, to press their stamp on London’s creative scene.

And so he’d taken the liberty of venturing out into that particular part of the city by night, which had made him feel all sorts of exhilarated and anxious and excited, relieved and hopeful all at once. It was magical. He hadn’t spoken to anyone, had just hovered around a bit, had felt the indescribable urge to photograph and to _not_ photograph everything all at once. Just a random wall in London’s suburbs had in mere hours transformed from a deserted, unattractive place to an obscure hangout for freed souls – expressing their thoughts and ideas onto the walls through impressive murals.

It was art and Harry loved it.

So it had become his muse, his source of inspiration, a moment of liberation – everytime he went to see the artists venture out and create something new all over again. Sometimes he took his camera, sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he took pictures, sometimes he didn’t. There was no pressure; he just watched and longed to be a part of that community. He felt like an outsider – didn’t dare to interfere, and he didn't even mind. He hadn’t talked to any of the artists, was just admiring their work from a distance.

Well. Except for the one time he’d accidentally barged into a graffiti artist while trying to flee the scene after hearing sirens going off in the near vicinity.

It was a guy named Zayn, or at least, that’s what he said his name was. Harry wasn’t sure if they all had pseudonyms like Banksy, especially given the illegal nature of their work. The rebelliousness of it all definitely did something to Harry. Anyways, Zayn hadn't been all that impressed with Harry's obvious fear of getting caught at the scene - or maybe he was just being paranoid, or maybe Zayn was just incredibly stoic.

If anything, Zayn was the epitome of _it_ , he seemed to ooze out this urgency of creating rebellious art that kicked against the mold. He was beautiful, chiseled by the Gods, yet incredibly shy that made him look almost shallow and disinterested in the world surrounding him. But then his graffiti art was funny and intricate, detailed and influenced by his British-Pakistani background and upbringing. It was lovely.

Harry had asked to photograph him. Zayn had told him no. He said the nice thing about graffiti was that he could spray over it and start again with no traces of evidence whatsoever – a photo would taint that fluid nature. Moreover, there was the fact that Harry had wanted Zayn’s face specifically to be seen in the picture – which would have been fine if it weren’t for the fact that graffiti was seen as vandalism and therefore very much punishable by law.

And then he hadn’t seen him again.

Harry wasn’t quite sure about the whole graffiti world; maybe they migrated? Only placed a mural somewhere once, 'tagged' the place, to never return to their old marked spots?

Or maybe he’d scared Zayn off with his intrusive questions about what it was like to use spraypaint or how to choose colours when you can hardly see them with no daylight to tell you what it looks like. 

It was all so wondrous and so incredibly special to see the artists out there get to work at night like a forbidden paradise, that he couldn’t help himself but return to the same spot at least once a week.

And tonight was a Friday night, which meant it was almost weekend, and since he’d had a not so satisfying day himself, Harry felt like he at least deserved to catch a glimpse of the courageous artists at night.

When he arrived at his usual stake-out spot, he actually didn’t see anyone at first. Feeling a little disappointed at the lack of action, he let his eyes rake across the entire ally. It was too dark to be able to really see anything, but then some movement caught his eye. Harry's gaze fell on the small hunched figure clad completely in black that was inconspicuously spraying something over another work.

It looked like he was adding another layer of colour but it was hard to see from a distance with no light to show him the already existing colour palette on the wall. The work he was adding to was beautiful, an intricate design of flowers and splashes and whirls that seemed to form a web – almost as if beauty was deceiving and might lure you right into its trap. His eyes roamed over the artwork, before settling back onto the street artist, who now seemed to be packing up his equipment; eyes darting around the deserted ally. For a short second, the artist's head turned towards the exact spot where Harry was standing and while he was sure he could see a flash of iridescent blue hidden underneath a cap and a scarf, the piercing gaze apparently hadn’t spotted him from a distance as the man had started a lazy but alert walk in the other direction.

And, well. Despite the darkness, Harry could easily see that the man had beautiful curves. Without realizing it, he lifted his phone and took a picture. With flash.

Not only did the thoughtless action startle Harry, who immediately ducked away and started muttering ‘idiot’ to himself on repeat – he could now distinctly hear the sped-up falling of footsteps fading away into the distance.

That had been a particular act of stupidity. And all that for a stupid silhouette of a beautiful man with piercing blue eyes that he hadn’t even met. It was probably one of the worst photos he’d ever taken, once again proving to Harry that phones were just not made for actual photography.

There was nothing left to do now, except for going home and returning tomorrow with an actual camera to go and see the artwork by day, perhaps photograph it. He just hoped that the mysterious and obscurity that surrounded the ally’s masterpieces by night would still be present for him to capture. 

And maybe, just maybe – he hoped to catch another look at the artist too. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis' POV this time!

 

 

** **

* * *

 

Louis had always been a bit of a troublemaker, he’d say. He wasn’t _difficult_ , but he knew he could be stubborn, mischievous, chaotic and maybe a little reckless at times. Some might mistake it for selfishness, but there was just this fierce protectiveness instilled in him that would never allow him to make decisions that would only benefit him.

It was one of the reasons why he’d always been a troublemaker, but had precariously taken account of how far he could go without actually ruining his own chances in life. When he’d been younger, his mum had been the one whose limits to test. As the eldest out of a bunch of siblings with a single mum, he’d always felt responsible for his four little sisters.

He loved them to death, would do anything for them if they only asked. Yet, of course he had complained and whined about having to babysit for his mum while she went to work, when all he’d wanted to do was kick around a ball and play with his friends outside.

But even then, he was very aware of the pressure his mum was under – trying to support five children on one meagre income; _that_ was difficult. So whenever his mum called _him_ out for being difficult, he’d comply right away. Being difficult was one thing Louis swore he’d never be.

Then as he got older and went to secondary school, Louis learned and realized that he liked the people in his class more than the actual classes. Which had resulted in him being a bit loud in school, always wanting to be the class clown. It also meant that he couldn’t be anything else – school is simple like that, or maybe people are. Once you get a label that’s it – and being the self-proclaimed class clown was always better, Louis reckoned, than being the guy with the complicated family, the boy whose mum has a 10 year younger boyfriend, or the boy who likes boys, rather than girls.

It had also earned him the reputation of a troublemaker with his teachers, but even though some told him he would never amount to anything, he still made it to Sixth Form incident and problem free.

There was one class though, where he hadn't earned himself any reputation whatsoever. It was the only class in which Louis felt like he didn’t have to hide behind his loud personality, where he excelled by just being himself.

Art.

It had been his only escape back then, together with music. He couldn’t help the feeling of entrapment in the small town of Doncaster, with this persona he’d created out of himself following him wherever he went. And even though he was torn between being with his family and getting the fresh start and freedom he so longed for; Louis decided on a whim after Sixth Form to move to London with nothing but a big bag full of essentials.

He’d immediately felt at home in the big city that lived and breathed anonymity; so different from small Doncaster where everyone knew everybody and judged him all the time. Here he could express himself the way he wanted, without ever feeling the slightest bit bad about it or how it would reflect upon his family. Because Louis might be a troublemaker, he’d never want to be difficult.

Unless you touched his artwork.

Or his ideas.

Or his paint.

 

.........

 

"Louis, stop being difficult and just choose a fucking colour, so I can pay for all of this and we can leave. I'm sorry I used your spray paint but my can of black was empty and don't pretend like you've never used mine either. I've apologised a thousand times already, but _please,_ can we just get back to the apartment and let me fucking sleep?!" 

 

To Louis' satisfaction, his best mate was slowly starting to sound more and more desperate.

 

"Oh Zayn, dear, dear Zayn,” Louis started, shaking his head in a gesture of feigned pity.

 

"After all these years, and _still_ you make such a rookie mistake when it comes to understanding the Tommo. First of all, I'm not difficult. Second of all, prove that I've ever used your paint - you will find you cannot, ergo it has never happened. Third, you will let me take all the time in the world to ponder whether I want charcoal black, or ultimate black, or obsidian black as you know just as much as I do that it can either make or break my next mural." 

 

Zayn sighed at Louis'  antics, and instead of taking the effort to reply, he just made his way to another aisle, inspecting the many varieties of protective gear against toxic fumes.

 

'I think you should go for this one.' 

 

Louis looked up to his right, surprised to find an unknown stranger standing there looking at him with a friendly smile and kind eyes. The audacity to give Louis advice - self-proclaimed king of the Southbank - on what kind of spray paint he should buy, and to still look like a puppy whilst doing so.

 

'My friend's in Fine Arts School and he swears by this brand of paint. I don't know if spray paint is similar or anything, but yeah, the brand's good.' 

 

He was so not feeling up to this - he'd spent the entire night touching up his mural but without finishing it as his can of black was missing, thanks to a certain someone. Unsatisfied, he'd been trying to sneak away unseen, yet it had felt like he was being watched despite having scoured the area for onlookers. His gut feeling has been right though, because seconds later a bright flash went off that Louis hoped was just some drunk bastard taking a drunk selfie with the flash on.

He’d still sped up his walk considerably.

Then, when he'd finally gotten home, he'd only been able to sleep for approximately 3 hours, before starting his shift at the small coffeehouse where he'd gotten a job upon arriving in London. It was a good thing he got to drink as much of the disgraceful but effective stuff while he was working or he’d probably be dead on his feet. Sure, he still felt dead on his feet but he could ignore it for now. Or well - that was until he arrived here, spending his break shopping for new spray paint because Zayn had confessed in the morning that there was a good reason why his collection of cans had been severely lacking the previous night, with the addition of this annoying puppy man dog giving him unwanted advice.

 

"I don't recall asking for your advice mate, and tell your friend that the brand he uses sucks - especially their spray paints. Sure there's a lot of pigment in it, but it's overpriced and the texture is deplorable."

 

Which, granted, he might have said with a lot more snark than necessary. And Louis realized that his normal tone and choice of words usually already came across as blunt, bordering on rude. As he glanced over at the dog, he decided that he would be the better person and apologise.

 

"Sorry mate, that was uncalled for. I don't know much about actual painting - I'm more of the illegal artworks kind of style. Have a nice day," and with that, he firmly gripped onto the can of obsidian black and bounced off to find Zayn.

 

'What'd you even say to that guy, poor thing looks like he's gotten a kick in the gut,'  Zayn observed with a stoic face - staring off into the direction of the man as if he wasn't actually looking at him. It was a personality treat that made him come across as disinterested at times, but also served as the perfect cover whenever they got semi-caught doing something not completely legal. Zayn always knew nothing and everything at once.

 

"He was giving me unsolicited advice on which spray paint to buy. Even suggested that one horribly expensive brand, because his _'friend in Fine Arts school uses it too'_. Ugh, Fine Arts school is for pretentious artists, they know nothing about real art," Louis said bitterly.

 

Zayn's eyes softened for a second, and Louis hoped he wouldn't address the enormous elephant in the room. Because surely all Louis had wanted to do when he'd discovered art was something he was good at, was go to a Fine Arts school in London. He hadn't been able to afford it though, so the dream had shattered and he'd instead taken it upon himself to just find himself a job somewhere in London. He hadn't wanted to let go of his dreams completely, and he was glad, because London had showed him the world of underground art; street art; illegal art - maybe the most liberating one of all.

 

'Sure, just a bunch of pretentious artists.'

 

Zayn understood, and that was why he got to call himself best friend and sometimes accomplice of Louis Tomlinson.

 

.......... 

 

"You've got to be kidding me," Louis said incredulously, before repeating himself as he eyed up his own mural. The one he’d been working on when someone had whipped their phone out to taka picture of something that hopefully wasn’t Louis doing anything illegal.

 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

 

In the three years he'd lived in London he had never seen anything like this. Had never heard of any respectable graffiti artist breaking one of the sacred unscripted rules - never _ever_ cover someone else's work. It was like a Fight Club kind of thing. Unspoken, but so important that had there been a rule book, it would have been featured at least thrice.

The thought of it alone got Louis to shiver – what if someone would accidentally cover a Banksy? Or maybe an anonymous work of art? Something challenging, critical, controversial and creative. The four c’s, all ruined because of someone just blatantly ignoring the rules.

Sure, you had to break a lot of rules to do graffiti, but there was a certain level of respect that you needed to maintain between other artists – had always been maintained as far as Louis knew.

No, Louis had never seen or heard anyone even _hint_ about it. Not in London at least. Not in the country where Banksy had made so many beautiful murals and had left his controversial mark on so many walls – and especially not in London, in the town that needed a healthy dose of criticism on politics and society maybe most of all.

Yet here he was, staring up at the exact location where his mural had been, without recognising it. Or well, admittedly - his mural was still there and for the larger part, it was very much recognizable as his work. Or ‘the Tommo’s work’, as he tagged all of his murals. He hadn’t done that with this one yet, because it wasn’t finished. And now he never would be able to, because someone had had the audacity to just go and fill in the gaps Louis had had to leave since he'd been missing several of his cans.

 

"I've only let you be for 3 fucking days and someone just swoops in and finished you?! Like _this_?!"

 

Maybe Louis was slowly starting to go crazy, but he was pretty sure he wasn't the one who'd made flowers, _fucking beautiful flowers_ , as fillers to his web. His web of falling into naivety, lies and blissful ignorance of society. Beauty – in whatever shape or form, was alluring, but more importantly – it could be deceiving.

And here someone had just taken the liberty of ruining his meticulously designed and thought-out concept by adding their own flowers.

Granted, they were kind of beautiful, and if Louis had an objective think about it, then surely they fit his theme perfectly. But it was _his_ mural, _his_ creative concept, _his_ idea. He hadn't made a freaking colouring book on the wall for strangers to just colour into whenever they felt like it.

He scrunched his nose, before leaning towards the mural and taking a quick sniff.

He backed away with a scowl on his face.

 

"And the defacer also used pretentious paint. _Actual_ paint. Who even _does_ that on a wall mural?!"

 

'What the hell are you doing Tommo?! You can't scream to yourself like that without causing a stampede and getting us caught! Do you want to get reported? _Again?'_ Zayn hissed as he materialised out of thin air, spray can still in hand as he scolded Louis.

 

Louis shot him a glare, then motioned for Zayn to look at his artwork. He was full of curiosity, disdain, perplexity and horror about what had happened - but above all he was intrigued.

 

"Someone else defaced slash completed slash filled in my mural - no tag, no full on ruining my work, but literally filled in the spaces I'd left for shadowing and details and instead used them to actually hand-paint flowers on there! What am I supposed to do except scream to myself?" He announced to Zayn, who for once in his life seemed gobsmacked.

 

'What the hell?'  He sputtered out in the end, after a long silence in which his eyes raked over the multiple intricately detailed flowers – there were peonies, lilies, sunflowers, dahlias, roses, orchids – and so lively, it was surreal.

 

"Yeah, thanks for that inspiring and valuable contribution Zayn, really," Louis snarked, hands ghosting over the fairly fresh paint. It couldn't have been done less than a couple of hours ago, the paint still smudging wherever he touched it too callously.

 

Zayn didn't even grace him with a reply, just kept his eyes on Louis' hands' movement as he observed the whole mural.

 

'Maybe it's one of those new hypes. Like yarn bombing, maybe this is 'paint bombing'. I don't know,’ Zayn offered, but seemed lost as how to respond properly.

 

Louis just shook his head, turning around to face Zayn, rather than his mural. His shoulders were slumped, as he had to find a new, empty spot that would give him the privacy of adding a new mural, but would also still be in plain sight for the public to find. And he had to think of a new concept, had to decide on what colours to use.

He was guessing his next one would be angry, and maybe a tad confused.

 

“Paint bombing? Yeah, this is either a lunatic, or a genius. I must say that it looks wonderful – but it isn’t mine. I didn't finish it and now I never will. And so I am obligated to hate it. But it looks good, so I’m also obligated to leave it here. Maybe the person who did it will come back and write their name somewhere. I don’t recognise it as the work of any other artists here, do you?” Louis said out loud, thinking about all the different street artists he’d met whilst scouring around Southbank.

 

Who could've been capable of even thinking of something like this? Using normal, acrylic paint, to finish a graffiti artwork? It was crazy and incredible. Some of the people Louis'd met in the dead of night had been crazy, and some had been incredible - but noone had been both, and noone had ever showed to have any knowledge of 'normal painting'. 

 

‘Nah man, maybe it’s just a naïve bloke who has no clue about graffiti and just thought he’d give it a go. Used your mural as inspiration and went from there,’ Zayn replied, shrugging his shoulders as he gripped onto his backpack, eyes quickly bouncing back and forth the ally.

 

“Fuck this. What do I do next?! This was going to be my next big thing you know?” Louis said miserably, following Zayn who’d started walking in the direction of his own mural – heavily influenced by his Pakistani roots and unsurprisingly, comics.

 

‘I know how much pride you take in being called the next British Banksy, and being featured on this one Facebook page, but that was just one mural Lou. You’re going to make something else and it’ll be good or it’ll be shit. That’s just the way it works. It’ll all be fine.’

 

Louis wasn’t even listening anymore, thoughts racing through his head as he tried to come up with a good way of salvaging whatever was left of his project and safeguarding his future murals from such.. well he couldn’t use the word vandalism, could he?

Vandalizing street art – vandalizing someone else’s graffiti mural. What a joke.

This person had to be stopped, whoever it was, and as the first victim – or at the least the only one Louis knew of, he felt that it was his job to teach this person a lesson about graffiti etiquette.

 

“I know what I’ll do! Another mural – it’s going to be like luring a mouse into a trap with some cheese. Only the mural will be the cheese and the person who’s responsible for _that_ ,” Louis said determinedly, pointing back to his own mural, “will learn that doing whatever they did is frowned upon.”

 

Zayn’s head swiftly turned back from where he was expecting how clean his outer lines were.

 

‘Louis,’ he started with a warning tone, ‘it was _one_ mural. Don’t make such a big thing out of it. Just let it go, get the frustration out in a nice, new mural – there’s some space here just a bit left of my piece.’

 

Although Louis felt a bit like a child being scolded by a parent, he couldn’t help but sigh as he relented. He knew Zayn was right and he was somewhat overreacting to this – especially given the fact that it had already been done.

Hadn’t he been the one that had gotten ‘It Is What It Is’ tattooed on his chest to forever remind him of looking towards tomorrow rather than getting stuck in the past?

 

“Fine. I won’t. But I’m telling you now Zayn, if this happens _ever_ again – I _will_ do it, and I _will_ apprehend that person, and I _will_ inform them of all the rules there are to graffiti, and I will personally see to it they will _never_ do it again."

 

Zayn threw him another dark look.

 

“And I'll do it nicely, I suppose,” Louis reluctantly added through gritted teeth.  

 

‘Good Tommo, now hurry up – we only have about 2 hours before dawn starts and the police will start patrolling this area,’ Zayn replied, no longer looking over at Louis.

 

“Oi! You watch it with that tone or I’ll paint some flowers over _your_ artwork, see how you like that,” Louis said with a lazy grin, before opening his backpack full of spray cans once again.

 

 As he reached out to grab the forest green coloured spray, he could feel it in his gut – this was going to turn out to be a good one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so what do you think so far? :) 
> 
> I have to say I was pretty overwhelmed by all your lovely, wonderfully positive comments - this is my first fic so it's truly amazing! 
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments and bookmarks, I hope you liked this chapter as much as the first one xx


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry & Louis POV

                                                                  

©youngandmadeof

* * *

 

 

It had been three days.

Three days since the mural had last been touched.

Not that Harry was actively taking notice of it or anything.

It’s just.

Well.

Maybe he _had_ been taking note of it.

 

At first, he’d come back during the day to check out the mural by daylight. And it had been magnificent. There was just no other way to describe it, really. It was beautiful, and haunting, and it made him think. It was all of the four c’s he’d learned about in college:

Critical. Controversial. Creative. Challenging.

It was obvious that it wasn’t finished though. There were multiple empty spots left in the mural, and for a split second Harry had thought it was part of the concept. But then he’d quickly shaken himself out of it, as he remembered all the times in which he had to make his most inspired pieces in multiple parts.

So he’d gone back the next night to see if it had been finished.

 

And maybe to see the artist with the startling blue eyes again.

 

Not that Harry was sure what he would’ve done exactly if he _had_ seen him.

He guessed that perhaps it would’ve been the proper thing to do to apologise for taking that flash photo of him. But then that did sound very stalkerish and he doubted how well that would go over.

Then again, he’d also taken pictures of the artwork by day without the artist’s consent – which was pretty frowned upon within the artsy world, even if it was street art.

So Harry kind of wanted to apologise for that too, maybe even ask for permission to photograph the entire piece once it was done.

But it had been three whole days and nights of checking to see if anything had changed, and _nothing_ had happened.

He’d been so excited about the prospect of seeing the finished product, and he’d so badly wanted to discuss the concept with the artist - whoever it was, although he must say the blue eyes had given him a particular large bout of inspiration to work with too.

The excitement had even caused him to be so incredibly exhausted during the day, he’d had to ask Liam to go get him new paint supplies, because he just didn’t have the energy.

 

No, Harry couldn’t lie. He’d been hoping to find a change tonight, especially after spending the entire day just mucking about with his newly acquired acrylics.

And perhaps he had been emulating parts of the mural at college. He’d gotten praise for it too; which had felt wrong and slightly vindictive as well. Street art, or rather, graffiti, was particularly frowned upon within the Fine Arts College. Harry didn’t get it. Graffiti, street art, it could all be beautiful. Maybe it was even better, because it was free, visible to the entire public, reaching a much bigger audience with whatever message it was trying to send across.

He’d once read a book about Banksy, and how he used the walls as his platform to send critical, powerful messages about society and politics into the world.

He’d been fascinated.

 

So whoever had made this mural in particular; there was no doubt that the blue-eyed bloke was clearly talented. And he was also very clearly not here – yet again – to finish his work.

With the artist being absent three nights and days in a row, an idea started percolating in Harry's mind. What possessed him in that moment, Harry didn’t know, but suddenly he was getting the acrylics out of his backpack, together with the charcoal drawing he’d made in class earlier – resembling the artwork on the wall.

There was a small sliver of doubt in the back of his mind, wondering if what he was planning on doing would go over well with the original artist. But he wasn’t here, and Harry was. He hadn’t been here 3 nights in a row. Harry had been. And he hadn’t finished it, hadn’t tagged his work either, so Harry would finish it instead.

 

Clearly those spots were never truly meant to stay empty – and Harry was just doing what every other artist would do – he was going to finish the product while respecting the work of the original artist. Because he was sure that despite those spots remaining untouched for three nights, that was not how the artist had envisioned them. He was sure of the concept behind the mural. He was sure that the only way to truly honour the mural was by developing its full potential.

 

And perhaps he was slightly exhilarated by the fact he was dabbling in street art for the first time. He was engaging in illegal activity. Maybe even vandalism. 

A snort left Harry’s mouth as he giggled to himself. He was vandalizing a vandalized wall. How scandalous.

It was thrilling and liberating and incredibly nauseating all at the same time.

 

He had to admit that he had literally no idea what he was doing, but Harry wanted to stick with his original idea on further developing the concept.

Obviously it was about society and how it used beauty and lies to hide its flaws, to deceive people, or maybe to let them keep a sense of naivety and ignorance. Whatever the exact meaning, Harry had decided that the best way to perpetuate the image and concept was by adding the epitome of fleeting beauty – flowers.

A beautiful, diverse array of flowers. Because each flower had its own beauty, but they were all meant to last only for a little bit, before fading away into nothingness.

 

Harry frowned as soon as he put the fine brush he used onto the wall. It was then that he realized once more how incredibly inept he was when it came to painting murals. It was clear that the brush wasn’t going to work like it would’ve work on a canvas, or a piece of paper.

And the paint he adored – the one he’d had Liam buy specifically at the store; it wasn’t properly transferring onto the wall and the colours weren’t as rich as he was used to on other materials.

He adjusted his style accordingly, and quickly finished up the first flower he’d selected in between the existing graphics. He’d carefully decided upon the meaning of each, and he hoped that the hidden message in them would be conveyed to the original artist. Harry had seen a lot of flower murals around this area, all done by the same crew – and although the style was distinctly different from the mural he was working on, signifying that it was a different artist – he hoped that there would be someone around that would get it.

 

‘There,’ Harry muttered to himself as he critically observed the purple heather he’d added as a final piece. They stood for admiration – and next to the daffodils signifying respect and the acanthus meaning art, he wanted to convey how he had been inspired by the artist’s work and how much he’d just wanted to pay homage to the original mural’s concept by finishing it.

He hoped he’d gotten the placement right; putting them in the corner of the mural where Harry had often seen artists place their tags.

 

It was like he was suddenly waking up from a hazy sleep when he stopped painting, the adrenaline still making his blood pump fast as he realized that he’d spent almost 3 hours finishing his painting on the wall. And although he couldn’t say he was wholly satisfied with how it looked – especially given the fact that his paint was a bit runny in certain spots, he felt invincible and exhilarated and proud of himself for going through with it.

But the excitement faded away quickly when Harry thought of what to do next. Because what _could_ he do now? 

There was no way he would ever be able to know the actual artist and their reaction to the now finished piece.

And he could never sit next to it and ask people that were passing by, ‘look, I added these, what do you think?’

He’d never get the approval or praise he usually craved so much in Fine Arts.

 

As disappointing as that was, it was also a new welcome experience, having this sense of the unknown surrounding the mural and letting everyone just take from it whatever they wanted to. It was out of Harry’s hands now. He’d put his stamp on it, and that was it.

 

To his own surprise, Harry still felt accomplished.

Now all he’d left to do was go home and clean his brushes and art supplies before sleeping.

And then maybe tomorrow he’d come back to see the mural by daylight.

 

Yes. Tonight had been a good night, but tomorrow would be even better. 

 

………

 

There was someone standing in front of his mural. Or well, semi-his, Louis supposed.

Still. Someone was looking at it with curiosity in their eyes and a big professional camera in their hands.

And even after being featured on some websites, it was always a thrill to see people enjoying what he’d made. Or at least contributed to in this particular case.

Gosh, it was annoying to having to share credit.

Obviously, when Louis had first started graffiti, he hadn’t been on his own but had been part of rather a big crew that Zayn had introduced him to. It’s there where he’d learned almost everything there was about graffiti – no longer having to rely on trial and error to figure things out.

It’s also where he first realized that Louis liked to lead, rather than follow. Which is how he’d ended working mostly alone, or sometimes with Zayn and some of his friends from the crew. He knew that he only got away with it because he was talented and they might not respect much, but talent and art was something sacred.

Determined, Louis started walking in the direction of the stranger, a man with his hair up in a bun and a suede jacket that seemed like it was well loved.

 

“What do you think, worthy of a photo?” He asked loudly, alerting the man of his presence.

 

Okay, so perhaps the man was more a boy – 20-ish Louis would say – than an actual man, but he was beautiful. Green eyes and pink lips, porcelain skin, and did Louis spot a dimple as the boy was smiling at him bashfully now?

He was tall too – taller than Louis, who was somewhat taken aback by the fact that for once, he didn’t even seem to mind. Actually, he’d quite like for the giant lanky boy to tower over him some more.

 

“I love street art. I come here all the time to photograph pieces that inspire me,” he replied, eyes shining with obvious love and appreciation for the art displayed for anyone to see on the walls of London.

 

Still, he also seemed uneasy, nervous even. It made Louis want to distract the boy until he would relax and feel comfortable again.

 

‘Yeah? What do you think of this one then, eh?’ He asked, and the uncertainty in the boy’s eyes only got more prominent, although it seemed to fade away the moment he opened his mouth to reply.

 

“Erm, I like the concept. And the combination of flowers and a more abstract style, it’s very fascinating. I mean, I don’t know how it was meant of course, only the artist would know about that – but yeah, like, I think that it hints to the tendency of covering up the ugly truth at times. Whether that is in society as a whole or maybe just in someone’s personality or even outer looks. And then the piece is critical of that, like, beauty is not going to last forever – a web of lies can be beautifully intricate, but it will at one point fade and break. Just like the flowers.”

 

Louis was impressed. Really impressed.

 

“…But I guess that’s just my view on things, what’s your opinion then?”

 

 _Right_. _Answer. Say something intelligent._

 

‘I think it’s weird,’ he started, which was defiantly not what he’d planned on saying at all and he was even more regretting it the moment he caught sight of the bloke’s face.

 

He looked crestfallen.

 

‘I mean, you can obviously see it was made by two different people, because there’s a distinct difference in style and paint texture. Which is strange for street art pieces. But I liked your interpretation. I didn’t think about the flowers like that, but you’re completely right,’ Louis added sincerely as his eyes took in the mural by day.

 

He hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but whoever the artist was had made a clear point of adding a ‘tag’ made up out of flowers – leaving Louis to make a mental note about looking up the meaning of them. Whoever this flowerchild graffiti bombing person was, he would at least try to understand why they were doing it and how they could’ve done such a good job at finishing Louis’ mural.

 

It irked him.

 

“Well I think it adds something. It’s unique and – oh fuck! Fuck, I have to go. Sorry, bye!” The stranger broke himself off as soon as he’d glanced at his watch, apparently having been on a tight schedule, and started running in the direction where Louis had originally come from.

 

‘Bye, beautiful stranger, maybe I’ll catch you photographing one of my pieces again one day,’ Louis mumbled to himself, smiling fondly as the guy seemed to stumble along like a baby deer with his ridiculously long legs clad in perhaps the skinniest jeans he’d ever witnessed.

 

Shaking himself out of it, he focused back on the mural and the task at hand. He slid his phone out of his pocket and made a quick snap of the artwork, before opening Instagram.

Just like Banksy, and almost any other graffiti artist out there, he operated under a pseudonym. Louis’ wasn’t very spectacular or original – Tommo; but it did the job and he’d gotten himself quite the following online.

He hadn’t been sure about whether or not he’d wanted to post this particular piece, but after the discussion with the lad in skinnies, he decided that he should just go ahead and post it. He’d make sure to mention that it hadn’t been just him – and that would have to do for now.

 

 **TheTommoGraffiti** _Collaboration with unknown._

 

……

 

Harry’s phone pinged, meaning he’d gotten a notification. He was in the tube now, having rushed there from Southbank, where he’d spent way too much time admiring other pieces, before somehow ending up at the one he’d worked on too.

And then there’d been this guy with blue eyes he could swear he recognized from somewhere, but then again, maybe he was just imagining things – wishful thinking.

He wished he could’ve stayed and asked him about it, maybe even gotten a name or something, but no. Of course Harry had been too busy taking photographs and then trying to awkwardly chat up this stranger without giving himself away as contributing artist to the mural, that he’d actually forgotten what the photographs were for – his photography class that was starting in about 20 minutes.

So he’d had to run to get to the tube and pray that he’d still make his class; he hated running late.

Harry’s eyes flicked up to see how much time he had before his stop, then decided that he could definitely spend some of it for checking his phone.

A smile stretched his lips as he saw the notification was from Twitter – one of his favorite London-based graffiti artists had just posted a new photo onto Instagram.

The caption made him frown in confusion though, as far as he knew Tommo never did any collaborations. It made him all the more curious to check out the photo, so he quickly pressed the blue letters which would link him to the Instagram post.

 

Harry dropped his phone the second he realized what exactly he was looking at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: DO NOT WORRY the iconic opening lines WILL be featured - obviously - and I have the ultimate scenario all written out already, which is at the stage where they will start interacting, rather than having a by chance meeting as strangers.  
> Secondly: I know this might feel like a bit of a filler chapter, but it is very important to understand where both of them are coming from with regards to the painting over/adding to Louis' mural.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and I will be posting on Tuesday again, so see ya in 48 hours xx


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike Two.

                                                                                         

 © youngandmadeof

* * *

 

He didn't need to see their faces to know that they were all probably turning their noses up at his blatant disregard for social etiquette in metros, especially when he dropped to the ground unceremoniously in his skinny jeans to scramble for his phone.

He couldn’t care less, when all he wanted to do was have another look at that godforsaken picture to see if he wasn’t dreaming.

Or maybe having a nightmare.

Harry wasn't quite sure what or how to feel about it.

He'd unintentionally tried to complete, _improve_ , a work of Tommo - the same Tommo that had been called the new fucking Banksy. Not because of a similar style – on the contrary, their works were entirely different – but they both made critical pieces and had attracted a large following online.

He was big. And an actual, recognized artist. And there was Harry; stupidly young, naïve, untrained Harry who had completely unaware of everything perhaps landed himself in a deep pile of shit.

'What the fuck,'  he whispered to himself, blinking his eyes again only to find the same photo of partially _his_ artwork still staring back at him from the screen.

‘What the actual fuck,’ he just repeated over and over again as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

He wished he could talk to someone and ask what he should do. The problem was though, there wasn’t anyone he could ask for advice, because no one knew it was him. Noone knew that he was the 'unknown' that Tommo had collaborated with. 

There was no way anyone _could_ know.

He hadn’t told anyone about painting it in the first place. Not even Niall knew, and he was probably the last one to care about or judge him for any indiscretions with the law or rules whatsoever.

Although it wasn't the unlawfulness that had kept Harry from speaking out about it – he'd been so excited to paint the mural, but it had also felt like a personal experience that he wanted to keep to just himself, didn't want to tell anyone else, didn’t want to share with others.

And now he wasn't sure if he'd _ever_ tell due to sheer embarrassment. 

 

He was the 'unknown' that Tommo was talking about; he had _collaborated_ with Tommo without knowing it. It was horrifying to have to realize his own ignorance, how could he not have seen it before?

How did he even dare to _touch_ the work of Tommo?

And obviously he hadn't been finished after all if he'd taken a picture of it now - that meant he had wanted to return, and oh god what had Harry _done_?

What if the caption of the photo was sarcastic? What if he hadn’t meant ‘collaboration’, but was the tweet a means to find the perpetrator – Harry – and call him out on it?

It made Harry’s anxiety spike and feel like a complete fool. The only thing that made him feel somewhat better, was the simple and pure fact that he _had_ tweeted about it. If Tommo hadn’t wanted to world to see it, then he would’ve just let the mural be buried; wouldn't have paid attention to it. 

He hadn't called him out on having infringed on his work. So maybe he hadn't minded. Maybe he had appreciated Harry's contribution. Maybe he had actually _liked_ his work. So, Harry desperately tried to convince himself, perhaps at least the artistry of it might’ve been somewhat acceptable in the mind of Tommo.

With his mind still reeling from the photo and caption, he knew that his class was going to be an absolute disaster. How could he present his photography work if he was completely confused and experiencing such contrasting feelings about something he'd done only hours ago?

 

He was running on maybe 3 hours of sleep anyway, which normally meant that his presentations would be utter shit or surprisingly solid. Turns out that vandalizing a Tommo by accident made Harry’s presentations balance out at the utter shit end of things.  Whereas Mr Barts tended to be quite lenient, especially when it came to Harry's sometimes erratic and indecisive behavior with regards to sculpture; his professor for photography did not allow him the same privileges.

He normally didn't need them either; he was usually very sure of his photography and determination always seemed to ooze out of him whenever he had to present his latest photos.

And Harry had been sure about his topic, had been sure about the photo selection – he’d been set on his concept for ages. This morning was supposed to be for fun, taking some extra pictures with his polaroid, just in case. As a backup.

And then he’d found out what he had unintentionally done, whilst already having to rush to be on time and running on little sleep.

So his presentation had gone awry, as was to be expected. Yet Harry was pretty sure that he could at least trust the quality and content of his work to pull him through.

This time was different though. 

The primary focus of his photography, the content of each and every single photo, was street art.

Despite the unwritten rule of not using street art for any of your projects, or even touching upon it in the slightest, Harry had done it anyway.

 

Street photography had always been of interest to him, which had gotten an immense amount of attention after Humans of New York. But street photography had existed long before him, had made photographers like Henri Cartier-Bresson famous.

The collection of his street photography had included everything and anything, ranging from inanimate objects to people, but sometimes also art that could be found on the street – street art.

But even for Cartier-Bresson, those photos were seen as his weakest shots – the ones that were frowned upon by the so-called connoisseurs of art.

But not by Harry. Taking a photo of a piece of art was actually a lot harder to do successfully and do justice than it was taking a nice photo of a person, or an artsy photo of designs or landscapes. If anything, it was ‘artception’ to him.

 

Besides, wasn't he supposed to be controversial, critical, challenging and creative?

He'd done exactly that by doing what he wasn't supposed to do – he’d broken the rules; and he'd made a selection of his best street art photos.

And as much as his professor couldn't deny the artistry and quality of the photos themselves, Harry could spot the distaste on her face from miles away as she regarded the objects he'd photographed.  

She’d frowned immediately, as soon as he started, and then afterwards she’d taken him aside to tell him he’d failed the course and that she was disappointed. As she phrased it, he had ‘unfortunately refrained from complying with all grading requirements’, i.e. choosing a topic from a list she’d compiled before classes had started.

It had been in the syllabus, and sure there were people who actually used the list, but the majority just freewheeled, as they knew that if you wanted to pass the class with a good enough grade – you’d have to be original.

 

Just not _that_ original, or so Harry had now learned.

It bothered him.

Sometimes, he couldn't help but wish that he hadn't been accepted into the prestigious school.

And then he'd feel so guilty, because he knew how many people wanted it - how many had to hear 'no' so that he could get a 'yes'. How many didn't even have the privilege or opportunity to apply in the first place. 

And here he was, complaining, because they didn't want him to focus on street art.

It made his complaints seem inconsequential, after which Harry would tell himself to stop caring so much about being denied this particular part of art. Didn't he have enough time to venture into it on his own anyway?

He’d just have to accept that this was something that would never be part of his curriculum – it wasn’t part of college, because it wasn’t an accepted art form. It wasn’t going to give him any job security, which was true; no one had ever asked for a graffiti mural to be commissioned.

 

But as much as Harry was being made to believe that, he _still_ couldn’t let go.

And so if it wasn't featured in his own education, he'd just have to educate himself and ensure that it _would_ be featured in his private time. Because it deserved attention – whether the Fine Arts world agreed with him or not.

 

To calm his mind, Harry made a detour right out of college back to the area he'd came from -Southbank. Even though it was also the root of the troubles he was having, it still offered him a welcome source of comfort. He felt safe, fully surrounded by art and music; he couldn’t quite tell, but he was pretty sure he could hear Niall’s voice carrying out from over the crowds on the busy streets

His unintended involvement with Tommo was soon forgotten, instead losing himself in the vibrant streets of London’s suburbs.

As he was strolling around, he grinned at a group of children using colored pieces of chalk to draw on the pavement.

Their eyes kept glancing upwards, and Harry followed the line of their gazes curiously. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to an intricate mandala design that was eerily reminiscent of a tattoo. Next to it was a palette of greens that stood out to Harry - it represented exactly how he felt in that moment.

 

Angry. Confused. Dazed. Ambivalent. Amazement. Wonder. Curiosity. Chaos.

 

The words that had been haphazardly written underneath it in black confirmed his thoughts - 'It's a jungle out there'.

 

“I see you’ve found new little artists to hang out with,” someone suddenly said from behind, making Harry turn around with a little jump.

 

He relaxed as soon as he realized it was just Liam, who was smiling at him warmly.

 

‘Yeah, well, they’re a lot less judgmental than my professors. They’re emulating the graffiti and drawing it with chalk – how adorable is that? I think they’d be far more open-minded adult artists than the lot that I know,’ Harry replied, sounding a lot more bitter and truthful than he’d intended the statement to be.

 

“It’ll be alright, you just need to get that piece of paper and you’ll be ready to do whatever you want,” Liam reasoned, always reminding him of the sensible thing to do.

 

He just nodded in response, sighing deeply before turning his gaze back onto the children.

 

‘What are you doing here, of all places, by the way? Don’t you have to work?’ Harry asked, eyes flicking back to the mural, analyzing the patterns and techniques.

 

It did look somewhat familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place it, which was annoying him a little bit if he was being perfectly honest.

 

Liam shrugged, hands digging in his jeans pockets. “Have the day off, was on my way to get a haircut when I spotted you looking all grumpy and angsty, yet somehow a bit mollified by those kids being into drawing.”

 

One of them had noticed them, and was now swiftly approaching with a little basket full of coloured pieces of chalk in her hands.

 

‘Hello – did you want to draw too? You must be a painter because you’ve got paint on your t-shirt. My mommy says that you shouldn’t go outside with paint on your clothes, doesn’t your mommy make you change?’ She blabbed on and on, pulling on Harry’s hand while he was utterly confused as to what was happening.

 

He could hear Liam laugh not too far behind him, while the toddler kept pulling him along and kept the commentary running. Where were the child’s parents or caretakers anyway? Did she not know how dangerous it was to just drag along random strangers, _male_ strangers by the hand?

Harry could appreciate the innocence, but he was also scared for what would happen to the group of children if there was no one supervising them.

 

“Lux! How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t just force other people to play with you! Especially not strangers!” Someone exclaimed, sounding both ashamed, amused and somewhat exhausted at the same time.

 

‘m sorry mummy. I know that I should first ask you but this man is a friend of Lili and he has paint on his tshirt,’ the little girl told the woman who was apparently her mum, fingers still tightly clenched around Harry’s fingers.

 

“I am so sorry, she always does this – Lux, apologize.” The woman first addressed Harry, then immediately changed her tone as she turned back to Lux, dropping to her level now.

 

‘But he was going to help me draw the jungle animals!’ She wailed, crossing her arms now as she looked up at Harry hopefully.

 

It was the first time he’d heard about any jungle animals, and he was also starting to wonder where Liam had gone. It was quiet, until he realized that Lux’s mum was now looking up at him too – weirdly resembling her daughter’s hopeful look. Probably because she would be grateful if someone could watch the girl that was apparently prone to acting callously.

 

“Were you? I’m sorry for not introducing myself earlier, by the way. I’m Louise, Lux’ mum and coincidentally also Liam’s hairdresser.”

 

Ah, now that made sense, given her own bleach blonde hair that was styled to perfection. Harry’s eyes glanced back at Lux, who was actually a very adorable child with tufts of blond hair escaping the ponytail that was perched on top of her head.

 

‘I guess I was,’ he relented to Lux' excitement, making him smile as she clapped her hands, ‘I’m Harry – a friend of Liam’s.’

 

“It’s nice to meet you Harry. I hope it’s not too much to ask, but could you entertain Lux here for a bit while I go cut your friend’s hair?”

 

He shrugged, Harry adored kids, and he adored art – it’d be easy and fun; a welcome distraction. Liam had appeared again, head popping out from one of the nearby shops which must’ve been the barber’s. He nodded at Harry as if to say they were okay people, before disappearing inside.

 

‘It’s fine. Come on Lux, let’s go make some jungle animals,’ Harry spoke as he crouched down to Lux’ level, offering his hand for a high-five.

 

She reciprocated the gesture eagerly, before handing him one of her chalk pieces.

 

“I will do the ground and you can do the wall,” she immediately ordered – making Harry snort.

 

Then his eyes widened.

 

‘The wall?’

 

She just nodded in response, already starting on drawing something that was unrecognizable onto the pavement.

 

“Yes – the wall. In the middle of all that green, the jungle – there are shadows and monsters and animals. You draw those. I draw here,” she stated decisively, pushing his hand onto the wall so the chalk would transfer onto the stones.

 

As much as Harry wanted to protest, especially given his latest misgivings, he also felt his heart melt at Lux’s determined face as she tried her best to draw a bird. He wanted to make sure she had fun with art, would see what you could do – what you could create with just a piece of cheap chalk.

The chalk would rinse off the mural easily, he told himself. And he wouldn’t do anything crazy, just a couple of small additions.

Besides; she was right. The palettes of green representing an abstract jungle graphic could use an added sense of danger.

It was beautiful without – but it wouldn’t hurt to add to it. So Harry started with the dark coloured chalk Lux had given him, reworking the stripe she’d placed onto the wall into an abstract shadow that could be either an animal or a person.

To Lux it probably presented something right out of Jungle Book – to Harry it was a ghost of the past that would hunt you; maybe a predator out there in the jungle that was the world, preying on weakness and trying to bring you down.

It _was_ a jungle out there.

Especially in the world of art.

You either eat yourself or you get eaten alive. You’re either successful at the cost of others, or not at all.

 

And Harry didn’t like that, didn’t want to conform to those rules – those standards.

 

He’d defy the jungle; his way.

 

So he drew. Drew with unconventional materials on an unconventional base, letting the unconventional beauty of the original mural stand out even more.

 

“I’m glad you drawed with me Harry. It’s almost as nice as my dinosaur,” Lux told him afterwards, tucked safely into her mom’s arms.

 

Harry was absolutely smitten with the child, not even caring about correcting her grammar mistakes and making a mental note that what he’d mistaken for a bird was actually supposed to be a dinosaur. 

 

‘Well, I tried to be as good as you, but your dinosaur was truly… remarkable,’ Harry replied politely – he was a terrible liar, which is why he’d perfected the art of avoidance.  Liam let out a snort, before saying goodbye to both Lux and Lou with the promise to drop by sometime in the future with Harry in tow.

 

As soon as Lux and Lou disappeared inside, Liam turned towards the mural with the added layer of chalk.

 

“Harry, I knew you were in Fine Arts College for a reason, but I didn’t know you could make such things with cheap children’s chalk. That’s.. that’s amazing. It looks _alive_. Enchanting and daunting at the same time. Like I could step right into the jungle,” Liam said in awe.

 

Harry smiled, ‘that’s the thing about the jungle, Liam. You’re already in it, even if you don't realize it yourself.’

 

……………

 

“Mate, you have to come and see this,” Zayn’s voice rang through Louis’ apartment.

 

He was dead tired from being in the coffeeshop all day and dealing with annoying customers that wanted exactly 6 seconds of milk. Drinking coffee was a sin in itself in Louis’ eyes, but demanding a specific amount of _seconds_ of milk, when Louis wasn’t quite sure how long a second was ought to be anyway, that was just the cherry on top of the pile of shit.

 

‘Do I really _have_ to? I’m tired man. I don’t feel like doing anything tonight. No inspiration,’ he replied as he stared into nothingness.

 

Speakerphone was the greatest invention ever, Louis thought, as he continued to lie on the couch, voice muffled into the pillow he was resting his head on with the phone somewhere in the near vicinity.

 

“I would tell you why, but that would give everything away and I want to see your reaction. I swear it’s cool. You know I appreciate sleep more than anyone else,” Zayn pleaded.

 

That piqued Louis’ interest.

 

Zayn never pleaded.

 

And he certainly was telling the truth when saying that he appreciated sleep more than anyone else. It was a hardship living with Zayn at times. Especially when that involved trying to wake him up in the middle of the night when inspiration had struck Louis but he needed a partner for the piece.

 

‘Is there someone new on the block? Did you spot our on-the-run flowerchild paintbomber?’ Louis tried to guess.

 

He wasn’t very fond of surprises. Hadn't been ever since his mum had used that exact word as an understatement to announce she was getting married again and having another set of twins. Not that he hadn’t been excited, or well, ecstatic about the news – he wanted her to be happy and he loved being a big brother – it’s just, it was more than a bit of a ‘surprise’.

 

“Just get over here, Lewis.”

 

‘Don’t insult me. Whereabouts are you even?’ Louis replied straightaway.

 

Zayn was perhaps the only person in London that knew Louis’ real name and on top of that had  earned himself the privilege to make fun of it.

He’d immediately taken to his pseudonym when he’d been introduced by Zayn into the crew.

He didn’t even know why he’d done it – but he liked the sense of anonymity and security it brought with it. This way, he couldn’t be found as long as he didn’t want to be and that was perfectly fine with Louis.

 

“You know where we did the piece two nights ago? Your jungle mural, the green one.”

 

He nodded, hoisting himself up off the couch, already grabbing his backpack full of essential gear, his big black scarf and a hoodie to cover up his face somewhat.

 

‘On my way, see you in a bit,’ Louis quickly said, before hanging up on Zayn and rushing out the door.

 

He was a bit impatient – and the best way to get over the restlessness that came with surprises, was by doing as Zayn asked him to do. The moment he arrived at the scene, he immediately knew what Zayn had been talking about. The excitement and anticipation he’d felt earlier were once again churning in his stomach.

 

‘That _cannot_ be real,’ he wondered out loud, steadily approaching his mate who was watching him with hooded but amused eyes, twinkling in the dark as they observed Louis’ expression.

 

 ‘Zayn – are you seeing what I am seeing?’ He asked again, seriously starting to doubt his own sanity with every step closer he took to the mural.

 

“I am seeing what you’re seeing and it is very real,” Zayn snickered.

 

‘This isn’t funny!’ Louis bit out, eyes following the chalk-made patterns that ran all the way from the pavement up onto his mural.

 

He could see that there had been children involved, playful little drawings and multiple attempts at recreating Zayn and Louis’ pieces had been made on the sidewalk.

It was the precision and talent displayed on the wall that confused him.

That was not the work of a child.

It was the work of someone who was incredibly gifted and talented. Someone who had mastered the art of leaving Louis speechless.

What was he even _supposed_ to think about it?

 

Again, he couldn’t deny that someone had made beautiful, wonderful, valuable additions to his original piece.

He wondered how it was possible that a complete stranger was somehow able to pick Louis’ brain, and make his concepts even that much more impressive.

 

But he was also incredibly frustrated – unsure whether or not he should perhaps even be insulted.

This was the second time now that someone had drawn into his murals. Of course, it could purely be a coincidence, and both cases seemed innocent enough. Moreover, they definitely hadn’t made his murals uglier, but had instead lifted them to another level. Then again – two murals; both belonging to Louis? That was definitely a pattern as far as Louis was concerned. Especially when he thought about the fact that both times someone had added to his graffiti with materials decidedly not made for graffiti murals.

Besides, Louis knew enough of personal vendettas and strange pranks being pulled between graffiti artists – particularly those who belonged or had in the past been a part of a specific crew.

 

“So what do you think?” Zayn asked, turning so he was standing next to Louis, eyeing up the mural too.

Some kids had tried to color some of the lower parts of his mandala, but it was evident that it was the work of innocent children who’d been happy to play outside and delve into the arts.

 

‘At least this can be removed by a small little London shower,’ Louis said, but he knew that Zayn could hear he didn’t mean it.

 

“Do you want it to be removed? It’s just chalk, we can do it ourselves if you want to.”

 

Louis rolled his eyes at his friend’s desire to let him spell out everything he thought and felt.

 

‘For fuck’s sake Zayn, you have eyes. You can see as much as I can that it’s goddamn beautiful. I’m not going to touch it. God this is annoying. What have I ever done to deserve such torture?’ He looked up to the skies, even though he didn’t particularly believe there was anyone up there looking down.

 

“At least it’s done respectfully. There’s a small ‘sorry’ etched right there, did you even see that? Like whoever did it wants to apologize, even though it’s just chalk! It doesn’t even damage the mural or anything,” Zayn remarked, pointing out the 5 written letters in the upper corner of his mural.

 

It made Louis smile to himself, but it also made his curiosity grow even more. Who even _was_ this person? Still, he'd made himself a promise that he intended to keep. Two strikes. The ball was in Louis' court now and he would not let this pass by unwarranted.

 

‘This is where I draw the line though, no pun intended. I am going to draw this person out – again no pun intended – and I will lure them into a trap and I _will_ know who is doing this to me.’

 

“And then you will thank them profusely for their input and collaborate. Don’t think I didn’t see that Instagram feature.”

 

Louis rolled his eyes, even though he had to admit that chances were big that would happen at one point. After he'd scared them and had educated them about the 'laws and arts of graffiti'. Why did Zayn have to know him so well?

 

‘I do fine all by myself, thanks, so no need for collaborations on a steady basis. Besides, if I wanted to, I’d have you do them with me.’

 

Zayn raised his eyebrows at that, “and who says I’d agree?”

 

‘I do,’ he replied confidently, ‘I always get what I want.’

 

“Except for this paint bombing person to leave your artwork alone,” Zayn shot back with a snort.

 

‘Oh shut it Malik, or I’m telling your mum all about how you actually haven’t quit smoking – sure she’d love to hear that.’

 

His best friend’s expression soured at Louis’ remark, “I suppose we should both head back to bed, before we make any rash decisions, hm?”

 

‘That sounds like a good plan,’ Louis said with a triumphant grin.

 

“Sleep tonight, make plans for catching your mural stalker tomorrow and telling my mum about me smoking never,” Zayn added smoothly, making him laugh loudly.

 

‘Whatever you say Z, whatever you say.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you (dis)liked about the chapter, I love getting feedback!  
> Also, they will be meeting very soon :D


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble is coming.

                      

© youngandmadeof

* * *

 

 

As much as Louis was used to being called a troublemaker and certainly did live up to that reputation at times, his mind was taking its sweet time with creating any good plans to lure the individual who’d now infringed on his artwork _twice_.

 

It had been about two weeks now, which Louis tried to justify by telling himself he had been busy. And he had been – doing extra shifts at the coffeeshop so he’d have enough money to buy his sisters nice birthday presents, and as much as it pained to say him; applying to universities. He’d decided that he couldn’t keep on dreaming forever with his family back in Doncaster.

He knew that he wasn’t responsible for their happiness or wealth, but he felt like he owed it to them – even if it was just because he’d kind of sped away the moment he could without coming back all that often. He needed something more than a barista job for the rest of his life. Something that would actually give him some job perspectives. Something sensible and secure.

And maybe that meant giving up on the Arts Colleges and instead going to Uni to study something that was still related to art, but also would be more affordable and less prestigious or competitive.

 

Sighing, he aimlessly turned the pages of yet another brochure, before chucking it through the living room and groaning to himself.

Despite trying to focus on his trials as a responsible adult, his mind was still being plagued by the mystery of whoever had drawn in his murals.

It wasn’t often that something happened to Louis that he couldn’t understand or figure out. Which made it all the more frustrating that the unsolved mystery had remained as it was for over almost a month now.

 

Zayn hadn’t been much help either, what with being gone half of the time being an actual student. Louis felt bad for whoever would be in Zayn’s classes once he became a certified English teacher – no one would ever be able to focus and they’d collectively fail because of his good looks.

Another sigh escaped Louis, before he hoisted himself up to peek out of the window. It was pretty dark outside already – his stomach grumbled in silent agreement that it was time to make dinner. Which meant ordering take out.

Maybe his Chinese dumplings would inspire him and he’d suddenly come up with the solution to all of his problems – or perhaps a fortune cookie would provide him with some solid advice and an answer to the questions turning over and over in his mind.

 

 

Turns out the Chinese dumplings only did things to his stomach and not his mind – good things, mind you, but still, _nothing_.

No plans for the future, no sudden epiphany on what to do with his life now that he’d decided to move on from being a barista.

A grim smile made its way to his face, as Louis looked over to his black Adidas sweater and worn down bordeaux Adidas trainers by the front door. Too bad graffiti couldn’t make him any money.

Then again, he also firmly believed that he didn’t want to taint something that helped him express himself – make statements about society – with something as .. _ordinary_.. as earning a living.

It could ruin what he loved most apart from his family, and he was not going to risk that.

 

Still, Louis’ spray paint called out to him like a lifeline; as if they _did_ contain all the answers that he so desperately needed.

So, like usual, he quickly shrugged on his sweater and grabbed a hold of his backpack. Being a grown-up would have to wait – trying to make sense of the chaos inside his head needed to happen first and making a new mural was Louis’ preferred method.

However, something that Louis hadn’t thought of, was that this time around his murals were part of his issues. As he scoured through the city, he realized that he’d subconsciously ended up in front of his latest mural.

Which in turn brought his attention to the fact that his frustration was mostly due to the lack of progress with regards to catching his – well, not his, just, _the_ paint bomber. He hadn’t even been able to come up with a good plan.

Whereas Louis normally never struggled with coming up with plans to trick other people - it seemed to take him a lot of effort this time around. Maybe it was because it wasn't a prank he was playing on a friend, and he also wasn't trying to trick someone out of revenge.

No, this time he truly felt out of his depth, didn’t really know what he was doing – what he wanted to achieve even. Louis had no clue whether this stranger was someone who made him feel appalled and angry, or intrigued and fascinated by their graffiti art, etiquette and technique.

 

Despite being called a troublemaker, Louis prided himself in never getting himself in _actual_ trouble. He always assessed the risks and he always knew how far he could go without things biting him in the ass. But with this - he just didn't know what he was getting himself into.

In the two weeks that had passed since the last incident, he'd only made 2 murals. And admittedly, each time he’d been anxious to see whether or not his artworks would end up featuring a new addition a couple of days after he’d finished.  

Not being able to let it rest, he’d taken it upon himself to visit his own murals regularly, something he normally never did – he just made them, sometimes took a picture to post online, and then he wouldn't really look for them again.

But for these last two weeks, he'd been visiting religiously, waiting for something to happen. Yet both of his murals remained completely untouched, and if he was being honest, he was pretty disappointed to find that they hadn't gotten any late night visitors.

The lack of action only further confirmed his suspicion that it wasn't some local graffiti crew trying to spite him. He was pretty sure that whoever it was, they hadn't meant anything bad by it. The question remained though, how was he ever going to find that person?

 

He just - he needed to talk to that person. Regardless of the content of that conversation; because Louis didn't even know what he'd want from the painter if he met them, what he wanted to say to them, nor what he wanted to hear them say, an apology or an explanation or maybe just a name - he just felt this intrinsic need to _know_. Know anything and everything about the mysterious paint bomber.

 

One of Louis' options was just asking around of course - there were enough street artists active in the area that might've seen or heard something. However, that would mean he'd hint at his own involvement, which was exactly what he didn't want.

So that left Louis with the option of luring him out. At first, he'd been sure it wouldn't take that much effort. He'd done his two murals, fairly close to the location of his first 'collaboration' - which he might've done on purpose - and he'd hung around much longer than necessary.

 

But he hadn't seen anyone.

Not a single soul.

 

And sure, Louis wasn't that arrogant that he thought the person was following him around or anything, but the location was a fairly well known spot for graffiti art to appear, and whoever he was looking for must've known that as well.

He couldn’t help himself when he’d secretly expected it to be a lot easier.

And so with the lack of success, the whole ordeal had left him feeling quite unsatisfied.

Which in turn, made Louis grumpy and distracted.

 

“Tommo! The man I’ve been looking for,” he heard someone announce quite loudly. Rolling his eyes at the brash nature of his friend, he couldn’t help but give Niall a fond smile as he kept his scarf and hoodie pulled tightly around his head.

 

‘What’d you want, church boy?’ He bit out - as much as he saw the friendly Irish man as a little brother, he just couldn’t deal with his enthusiasm at the moment.

 

“Church boy? Where’d that one come from? I just wanted to tell ya that I’m gigging with Ed fucking Sheeran at Camden tomorrow night– sick isn’t it? Reckon you gonna show up?” He babbled on excitedly. 

 

Ed Sheeran. Louis was a big, big fan of Ed Sheeran. Not that Niall knew that. Niall didn’t really know anything about him, apart from the fact that he’d seen him take out his spray cans at night sometimes. Still, Niall considered him somewhat of a friend, and so Louis reciprocated that - to some extent. To be quite honest though, if Ed Sheeran hadn’t been involved, Louis wasn’t even sure he would’ve ever considered going.

 

‘Not like you’d know it if I were there mate. Thanks for the invitation though – how’d that happen? Last I heard you were still playing ‘round here and Shoreditch,’ he asked, not being able to contain his own curiosity.

 

Niall shrugged at the question, “his A&R saw me and then I just asked if Ed would be interested in a collaboration of sorts.”

 

Just asked.

Ha, Louis wished it was that simple.

Or well.

 _Maybe_ it was.

If he could just be creative enough – he’d make it work.

 

And this time, he would be successful.

 

………

 

Harry promised that he really had tried to not spend so much time in the dark allies of Shoreditch and Southbank – he did. Especially after his disaster of a presentation at college, which had actually gotten him reprimanded by the _Dean_ , he’d been focusing on getting his grades up again.

 

It’s not that he wasn’t still defiant about the issue, and of course he would continue to remain interested and invested in street art – because he believed in its beauty. But Harry wasn’t about to put his ticket at a semi-stable future on the line over one assignment.

So he’d made a promise with his fingers crossed behind his back, and had kept a low profile ever since; even though he was definitely planning on returning to his favorite areas of London. But you know, maybe not when he felt like he was being watched like a hawk by his professors. And maybe this time around he wouldn’t paint into murals – despite his best intentions.

 

Still. It had been two weeks and Harry thought he was about to lose his mind. He needed a stress reliever. He needed to see some unapologetic art, needed to breathe in the smell of freshly dried paint like oxygen. 

 

He’d gone to the studio at college, and he’d painted there for hours in an attempt to get his frustration out. But he couldn’t help but find that he lacked the inspiration he normally had during his painting sessions. His paintings were alright – but they were so angry, full of harsh red slashes and cold hues. Had been for weeks now.

 

He didn’t like it.

 

So there really was no other alternative other than going back to the root of it all – the murals in Southbank. 

It wasn’t that Harry hadn’t _tried_ to stay away; it’s just that he _couldn’t_. Besides, he had gone to Niall’s gig with Ed, and if he was already out and about, there was no reason for him to go home right away. Instead, he could just as easily visit his favourite spots in the entirety of London.

 

And he was so glad he’d broken his promise the moment his eyes landed on the mural in front of him.

 

It must’ve been made in the last couple of days, because Harry was certain he hadn’t seen it before. The vibrant colours clashing with the eerily washed out stag – it almost reminded him of the Colours of the Wind video. Only this was hauntingly beautiful, and Harry could only guess as to what it meant.

He happened to think it had to do with how mankind was ruining nature by infringing upon it and its original inhabitants – like the stag.

Of course, he’d never know for sure. What he was sure about though, was the artist of the mural.

 

Tommo.

 

It made Harry’s cheeks go red with embarrassment all over again, as he thought of the mural a couple of streets back that featured his own addition.

Still – this one looked beautiful. His eyes trailed downwards, wanting to observe every small detail of the mural. As he reached the point where the wall met the ally’s cobblestones, his gaze latched onto an anomaly.

 

There were still spray cans there.

 

Interest immediately piqued, Harry looked around him to see if anyone was nearby – if Tommo himself perhaps had forgotten his spraypaint and was going to come back only to find Harry standing there.

He couldn’t deny that the mere idea made him feel extremely giddy and anxious at the same time.

 

A small, nervous giggle bubbled out of his throat, as he took a step closer to the items. It made him realize that he still knew absolutely nothing about using spraypaint, and for someone who was so enamored by street art, he supposed he should really start reading into that aspect of it all.

 

So, he did what any other sane person would do – he took a picture of the cans.

For research purposes only, of course.

 

Harry had planned to turn around then and just leave the spraycans behind for the original owner to pick them up whenever they remembered they'd left them there, but he was suddenly caught up in the horrific idea of some poor animal getting poisoned by the paint.

He wasn’t entirely sure of the substances used in the cans, but it was probably all very chemical and obviously bad for the environment or any stray animals lingering around the area.

 

He could prevent that from happening.

He just needed to inch a bit closer and grab the cans.

Maybe they were empty anyways.

He couldn’t imagine as an artist that you’d leave your materials behind otherwise – who would be so careless?

 

The thrill though, the thrill of maybe perhaps taking something that wasn’t his but belonged to a great graffiti artist, was what made Harry do it.

 

It was only when he bent down to grab the perhaps poisonous aerosol cans that his eyes registered the frame sprayed onto the wall right next to the mural he’d been staring at earlier.

There were words scribbled onto the wall – Harry wasn’t sure if someone had done it with spraypaint, but if they had he was definitely impressed by their ability to be so meticulous.

 

‘Please finish,’ he said aloud, eyes lowering to the frame again as he wondered what the artist meant by it. Was it supposed to be an actual request, or was it a statement?

 

On the one hand, someone had already made an outline of what looked to be a simple silhouette in the frame – like they had to be coloured in. On the other hand, he couldn’t quite believe an artist would willingly ask for someone else to finish their work.

 

But it was too much, _too good_ , for Harry to pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity. He could already feel his hands gripping one of the spraycans tighter in an attempt to understand how he was supposed to use them.

 

This was his chance, perhaps the only one he would get, to make something with actual spray paint.

Besides, the silhouette was easy enough to make for an artist like Harry whose favourite paintings were those of simple silhouettes that were given a different feel or atmosphere just by the stroke of his brush and the use of contrasting colour palettes.

 

Still, painting on a wall was much different – as he had experienced the first (and last) time he did it – and he didn’t even know the brand of paint from the spray cans, hence he had no idea what the texture would be like.

He couldn’t make a sketch, or test painting; not like he could when he was painting in the studio. He’d have to make it good right away.

 

Trying to suppress the hesitation and instead focusing on the rush of excitement coming with the illegal activity, he placed all but one spray can back on the ground and rose back up.

 

‘Here we go, Harry whispered to himself, before lifting the can to the wall as he began filling in the lines with orange hues.

 

A smile spread out on his face as he truly got into it, forgetting all about his surroundings while he focused on trying to get the paint to do what he wanted.

 

Which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t the best idea.

Harry was just starting to experience how hard it was to wield the spray cans properly and was about to reach out for a darker colour to try and spray over some errors he’d made. Only when he crouched down, his eyes met two Adidas trainers rather than the dark blue spray can he was looking for.

 

That could only mean one thing – trouble.


	6. Chapter Six

 

© youngandmadeof

* * *

 

 

Harry immediately stiffened, blood rushing to his head out of embarrassment at being caught.

He was glad that at least it wasn’t the police – or he supposed that it wasn’t, did the police wear Adidas trainers nowadays? Hopefully they didn’t, because he really couldn’t use a record at this point, what with him mucking up his latest examination. Doing slightly illegal things was only fun as long as you didn’t get caught.

Still, Harry suddenly realized how stupid it was to hang out by yourself in the dead of night in a shifty, dark ally. He had no idea whose shoes he was currently staring at – he just hoped it wouldn’t be anyone dangerous.

The person cleared their throat, and Harry slowly retracted his hands that had still been hovering mid-air, then started to rise from his crouched position.  

As soon as Harry was finally standing upright again, shoulders a tad hunched as always, he lifted his gaze to catch a glimpse of the stranger who he hoped to God wouldn’t murder him right there and then.

It would probably help if he apologized too.

 

‘Oops?’ Harry sheepishly offered while his eyes registered the person standing just a meter away from him.

 

And.

Well.

He wasn’t quite sure what he expected – it’s not like Harry could judge when he himself frequented creepy allies at night all the time for the arts – but the crystalline blue eyes staring back at him certainly weren’t it.

 

“Hi,” a distinctly male, but angelic voice spoke, sounding equal amounts amused as annoyed.

 

Harry didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just stared. Stared at this beautiful person that was bundled tightly in black clothes – a black hoodie, a scarf covering half of his face, and a Vans snapback placed on his hair. He couldn’t quite discern what colour it was, but the little tufts that were sticking out looked feathery and soft. He might’ve been a bit intrigued.

 

“Well. Is ‘oops’ all you’re going to say to me?”

 

The words shook Harry out of his stupor, but instead of saying something intelligent and eloquent, all that he blurted out was ‘please don’t kill me.’

 

The answer seemed to surprise the bloke, his blue eyes widening comically, before a snort erupted from behind the big black scarf.

 

“Mate, you have a lot to learn,” he scoffed – dismissing his pleading right away as something inconsequential and unnecessary.

 

Harry couldn’t help but silently agree with the stranger; he _did_ have a lot to learn when it came to graffiti.

And apparently also when it came to conversational skills.

 

 

…

 

 

Louis had been watching for a bit, observing the way in which the curly headed, tall bloke was hesitant and then had picked up the spray cans with a bit more decisiveness. Still, it was clear that he was inexperienced – Louis could make entire lists about all the rookie mistakes the guy was making, starting with the fact that he had not once checked his surroundings after he’d picked up the can or how he was wearing a ridiculous pink polka-dot shirt. 

And from then on, it was just an endless amount of things that told Louis that the guy had no idea how to handle spraypaint.  He was holding the cans too close to the surface, which he hadn’t inspected for irregularities that should be taken into account, wasn’t waiting for the paint to dry long enough, and he was obviously creating his piece in the wrong order. There was a method to making graffiti art, but this certainly wasn’t it.

But it was endearing to watch regardless; it kind of reminded Louis of his own first encounters with spray paint and the enjoyment it brought him when he started discovering how to make the outcome look exactly like he ‘d envisioned it in his mind.

And as much as Louis was appalled by the bloke’s graffiti etiquette, he obviously was artistic – the general idea was clear, even from his vantage point. He just needed to get a bit closer to be able to see whether or not this guy was the same one who’d done the other paintings. The way in which he was using the spray can made him suspect as much; he was going about making the mural as if it was an actual painting.

Still – he had to be _absolutely_ sure this was them – the paint bomber, as Zayn had dubbed them earlier. He’d been doing research; had looked at the additions on both of his murals and he’d analyzed the style. That had already told him that whoever had done it had no ill will – none of it came even close to any of the crews on the block.

Besides, it’s not like Louis had any enemies.

That he knew of at least.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit gleeful at the fact that his plan had worked. With every splatter of paint hitting the wall, Louis received confirmation that this was the man he was looking for. As glad as he was that it was the right individual – having found his very own troublemaker – he was also feeling more anxious.

There was absolutely no predicting what was going to happen the moment he’d walk up to this stranger, and suddenly Louis wondered why he’d told Zayn he shouldn’t come along. Then again, he’d always been fine on his own, and this man was intriguing him with his paintings and his style and his apparent lack of background in graffiti, yet obvious knowledge about other forms of art.

Before Louis even registered it himself, he was stepping out of the shadows – he’d been feeling uncomfortable for a while, watching this person with some sort of strange fascination without them knowing – and closer to the wall. The bloke didn’t even realize, until he crouched down to grab a blue can, probably in an effort to cover up some of the remnants of dripping paint with more nautically themed fillers.

 

The first thing Louis noticed now that he was standing so close, was that the guy was tall.

Very tall.

Taller than Louis’ 5”9. Which meant that he probably wouldn’t be able to take him out by sheer force if needed. He’d have to be smart, and kind, and friendly.

Louis peered over his black scarf to take in the face of his paint bomber, and couldn’t help the thoughts invading his mind about the sheer beauty of him. Forest green eyes, milky skin and a sheepish grin that showed off a dimple.

An actual dimple.

Louis didn’t need any apologies or explanations – all he wanted was to press his thumb in the dimple and figure out how deep it would go.

He quickly shook himself out of it, just in time to hear him speak.

 

“Oops?”

 

Louis wasn’t sure what to think of that – had no clue what the guy could possibly be apologizing for in the first place, after all, there was no way he could know who Louis was right away. Then again, it was also kind of endearing to have him apologize in the first place so he wasn’t complaining.

 

‘Hi,’ he heard himself say, while his thoughts drifted back to the boy’s cherubic face that somehow seemed so very familiar. Louis was pretty sure he’d seen him before, even though the shadows could’ve easily been playing tricks on him.

 

It was quiet for a bit, both of them just sizing each other up – or maybe it was more admiring each other, Louis really didn’t know anymore what he was doing and what he wanted to get out of this. So, he opted for his usual knee-jerk reaction, which was being sassy.

 

“Well. Is ‘oops’ all you’re going to say to me?”

 

And, sure, maybe that wasn’t the most sympathetic, polite, or nicest thing Louis could’ve said – and definitely what he’d planned on saying, but even then did that not warrant the response he received from the curly-headed bloke.

 

‘Please don’t kill me,’ he squeaked out in that surprisingly low voice of his, making Louis almost laugh out loud in indignation.

 

So maybe Louis had been slightly distracted by the looks of his paintbomber, but his lack of verbal skills or just general knowledge were quickly starting to annoy him.

 _Of course_ Louis wasn’t a murderer – and that someone thought he looked like one, and was subsequently mistaken for one, that was absolutely offensive. He didn’t even want to grace that with a response, but then he also wasn’t about to walk away now that he finally got this guy where he wanted him to be.

Right next to him. Or well – across from him, Louis supposed.

 

“Mate, you have a lot to learn,” he scoffed, eyes narrowing as he tried to gauge the boy’s facial expression. Curly did seem slightly embarrassed at his own words, as if they’d escaped him without his own consent.

 

‘Can’t deny that,’ Curly muttered, which gave Louis the sudden urge to smile at the boy’s awkwardness.

 

‘I’m really sorry – are these yours? I just, I saw the mural and I – well, they were right _there_ and-’

 

As much as Louis was enjoying the absolute mess that Curly was making of himself by drawling out probably the slowest apology ever, he couldn’t help but feel like he kind of wanted to make him feel better, maybe see that dimple  come out again.

 

“I left them there on purpose. I said you had a lot to learn, but you’re a good painter. You just know absolute shit about graffiti, well do you? Was watching for a bit,” Louis said, then paused and frowned at himself, before continuing.

 

“In a non-weird way. I kind of needed to know for sure it was you. What’s your name, by the way?”

 

The man was staring at him now, as if he couldn’t quite understand what Louis was talking about, before shaking himself out of it as he blinked a couple of times.

 

‘Harry.. Harry Styles,’ he spoke timidly.

 

“Nice to meet you Harold,” Louis said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, repeating the name over and over in his head.

 _Harry Styles_.

Worthy of an artist.

He was pretty sure it was the bloke’s real name – if he didn’t check the area he was going to spray paint on, he definitely wouldn’t have thought of a pseudonym. 

 

‘It’s Harry, it’s not Harold,’ Harry insisted, suddenly sounding a lot firmer and a lot more sure of himself than just moments before.

 

It was endearing to Louis. And just for that, he’d definitely continue calling him Harold.

 

“First rule of graffiti – since it’s illegal, it’s probably best if you don’t give out your real name just like that when you’re caught in the act,” Louis said with a smirk, leaving Harry flustered once more.

 

‘Right. So calling me Harold is basically you doing me a favour?’ He questioned, eyebrows raised at Louis in amusement.

 

He couldn’t help but feel some sort of satisfaction at seeing Harry amused by him, so Louis just nodded back seriously.

 

“What’s yours then?”

 

Right.

Louis should’ve seen that question coming.

Should’ve been prepared for it, really – but he hadn’t even given it much thought. It had been so long since he’d talked like this with someone else aside from Zayn in London. Besides, he was still not quite sure whether or not he really wanted to reveal himself to Harry; practically a stranger. Although a very talented, polite stranger. A very talented, polite stranger that saved Louis from answering by suddenly coming to his own conclusions as he seemed stricken with an epiphany out of the blue. 

 

“Oh- Wait! You said you were looking for me. Are you- you can’t be.. Are _you_ the Tommo?!”

 

At least it solved another dilemma for Louis now that his choice was taken away from him. Instead of worry and doubt, he was now overcome by feeling slightly offended due to Harry’s surprise.

 

‘What’s so unbelievable about that?!’

 

He asked with indignation laced through his voice, blue eyes piercing into Harry’s green ones.

Louis kinda wished they were standing underneath a street lantern so he could’ve properly seen his face.

Taken aback, Harry raised his hands up in the air as if to show he hadn’t mean anything bad by it.

 

“You’re just so young, I kind of thought that someone with such a renowned name had a lot more years of experience under his belt,” he elaborated sincerely.

 

It only seemed to register then that he was talking to the artist behind the murals he’d ruined. His eyes widened in embarrassment, and all Louis wanted to do was stop him from feeling bad about it.

 

“I am _so_ sorry for ruining your murals. You’re right – I need to learn a lot. It’s just, I thought that whoever had started it didn’t have time to finish it, _couldn’t_ finish it. And like, if it were me, I’d hate it to see something go unfinished when I’ve thought out the entire concept. So, I kind of thought I was doing a good thing – helping the artist. I wanted to honour them, not insult them. I must seem like a complete twat but I swear I’m not-”

 

Louis shook his head, signaling for Harry to quit the apologies.

 

‘You did it twice, you know? Once with actual paint – who _does_ that by the way – and then with crayon. I’m just glad it’s not a personal vendetta against the Tommo. Now _this_ , we can easily solve. You’re a brilliant artist. You obviously want to learn about graffiti art. I know _a lot_ about graffiti,’ Louis trailed off, the idea slowly starting to take shape in his head.

 

He liked this kid. He was eager to learn, his artwork was beautiful, _Harry_ was beautiful.

Which, taken together, resulted in Louis’ mind filling itself with new creative ideas for his artwork and possible collaborations – and mixing of styles and materials.

Harry was still staring at him, as if he wasn’t entirely understanding of what Louis was offering.

 

“So you're not going to kill me for drawing into your murals, but you're offering me an apprenticeship?”

 

The incredulous formal tone in the curly-headed lad's voice made Louis snort, but he guessed that Harry's terminology was somewhat applicable.

Besides, he seemed so excited – Louis wasn’t going to give him shit about his choice of words.

 

‘Tomorrow night at 3. In front of my birds mural. Wear black this time and disguise those curls, Harold!’

 

And just like that, Louis took off, feeling slightly confused about what he’d just gotten himself into.

Had he really just out of the blue agreed to taking on an ‘apprentice’ - had offered it up like that?

Graffiti artists didn’t even do that kind of thing, ever.

There were crews, in which people obviously got to benefit from each other’s knowledge – but individual tag duos in which one was undeniably the teacher and the other the student? Louis had never come across anything like that.

 

Graffiti was something that was better left experienced than taught anyway, he supposed. Which would be the first thing he’d tell Harry. After giving him the Fight Club rundown of graffiti etiquette.

Because – like he’d told Zayn before, that was all that he was doing.

It was a noble thing, really – making the graffiti environment a safer and more social, respected place for all that nourishes creativity.

Yup. All there was to it, Louis told himself as he scurried down the streets. His phone buzzed in his jeans, making him stop to quickly check who’d contacted him that late at night.

 

_So, how’d it go? Did you teach him a lesson? :P - Z_

 

Louis huffed at Zayn’s text, as if it was that unbelievable for Louis to teach someone a lesson. He wasn’t the tallest bloke – like Harry – but he was definitely not scrawny. He did not let people walk all over him; he’d learned his own lesson about that long ago.

 

 _I made sure it won’t happen again_ , Louis settled on texting back.

 

It was true enough. He wasn’t too keen on sharing details of his life, and as much as he trusted Zayn – he needed to see what he had actually agreed to himself first.

 

_What did you do?!_

 

He rolled his eyes at Zayn’s response, as if he would do something reckless.

Instead of sending back a reply, Louis decided not to bother with it and just focused on the beautiful empty space on the wall in front of him.

He needed to clear his mind before returning to his dingy flat.

And there was only one way he knew how to do that.

He'd spray paint. 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins..

"But you don't even _have_ a birds mural," Harry said belatedly in surprise, after Tommo had already fled the scene.

 

Not that Harry thought he knew better than the graffiti artist, of course not. It's just - well - he was pretty sure he'd seen most of Tommo’s work as a result of following him on Instagram. Even more so, all the nights Harry had spent trudging through the streets and alleys of London had made him pretty aware of the murals that were spread out on the walls that Tommo frequented most in the city of London.

Which is why he could conclude with almost 100% certainty that there did not exist such a thing as a ‘birds mural’ made by Tommo. As far as Harry knew or was aware, he usually did pieces that involved textual components, rather than just figurine elements, and so a birds only mural would've definitely stood out to Harry. Especially since Harry loved birds. Would've probably tried to paint the mural in one of his classes, like he'd done with a lot of Louis’ pieces as practice or inspirational pieces.

 

"Birds mural.. where would he have made a birds mural?" He muttered to himself, quietly pondering over the conversation he'd just had with this illusive Tommo he'd looked up to for so long.  

 

Maybe there wasn't even a mural - maybe he was just being played. Maybe Tommo wasn’t even really Tommo, but someone trying to pull a prank on him. Then again, it was a lot of effort for a simple prank; he didn’t think anyone would concoct such an elaborate scheme. Besides, as far as Harry knew, he didn’t have any enemies. People usually liked him, and although Harry’s good nature could sometimes come across as him being rather naïve or too trusting, he actually prided himself in being able to suss out people quite easily. And this Tommo figure didn't seem to be malicious or dangerous. He seemed genuine. Despite meeting him in a back alley at 1 AM in the morning, dressed in all black as he admitted he’d watched Harry from afar – the moment they’d started talking, bantering even, Harry’d felt… safe.

He sighed to himself.

As nice as the little intermezzo with Tommo had been, he wouldn’t get a repeat of it or learn anything about graffiti, if he remained clueless when it came to the location of this birds mural he’d mentioned.

What made it even worse was the fact that Harry definitely didn't have the time to go look for it now. He needed to head back home, what with his class tomorrow morning at 9 AM. A lot of art students tended to come in late, but not Harry. He was never late, and it was another thing that gave him more leeway with the professors than many of the other students. He didn’t want to lose that privilege. It was one of the things that provided him with exclusive access to the art studios before classes even started.

 

Maybe the thing that Harry liked the most about graffiti though, was that the whole city was his art studio. Surrounded by darkness, all that he could think of was the spray cans still standing in front of him on the cobblestones. He guessed he should probably take them with him, so he could give them back tomorrow.

Or use them.

The thought of the possibility alone filled Harry with exhilaration and anxiety – he still wasn’t quite sure; couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. He was the Tommo’s apprentice. Which probably wasn’t how they referred to it in the graffiti world, but he’d take any opportunity to learn more about graffiti. And Tommo, well, he was one of the best, if not _the_ best to learn from.

Plus, he couldn’t deny the fact that Tommo was beautiful.

If it would be socially acceptable, Harry would probably spend days painting him. And he hadn’t even been able to truly see the guy – had only been able to admire his cheekbones and those startling blue eyes framed by a _lot_ of eyelashes.

The looming thought of not finding the birds mural in time for tomorrow made Harry frown almost instantly again. He had to locate it before 3 AM. He’d finish his classes at 12 PM, which should give him enough time to scout the areas that Tommo seemed to prefer.

It would have to do, Harry decided, and with that picked up the spray cans before walking home.

 

.........

 

Louis had only lied a little, he told himself as he was taking coffee orders of what seemed like entire business companies.

 

‘Ridiculous caffeine addicts, 12 seconds of soy milk – who even has the time to _count_ fucking seconds of fucking soy milk,’ Louis muttered to himself before faking a smile and handing the customer their 5 custom-made coffees with various types and times of milk.

 

“What’s with you today, you’re so skittish?” Eleanor asked, as she sucked on the straw of what was probably her fifth Frappuccino that day.

 

Eleanor was made for a job at a coffee house – she adored coffee and most likely understood why some people only needed 5 and other 18 seconds of milk in their long or short blacks. Louis was just a poor unfortunate soul without any money that had ended up in a place that he couldn’t quite grasp. At least the job came with free tea, and the pay was decent. Besides, he didn’t dislike the work or his colleagues – it was just some of those picky customers that’d get him in a proper mood.

 

‘Nothing, Eleanor, and I’m not skittish,’ Louis replied testily, rubbing up and down the dagger tattoo on his arm.

 

If Harry really was a fan of his work and followed him online, he must’ve seen it, Louis argued in the back of his mind. He’d find it. It’s not like the birds didn’t exist at all.

They just hadn’t existed until _after_ he’d talked to him.

 

“You’re a liar. Do you have a hot date tonight that you don’t want to tell me about in case it goes awry?”

 

He took it back. He did dislike his colleagues. Louis shot her a dirty look, but Eleanor only seemed encouraged by that.

 

“Oh my god – you do have a date! Who is it, do I know them? Finally, Louis, I thought I’d be the only one bringing in dating life gossip in this place!”

 

Louis sighed, before fixing her with another look, ‘it’s not a date.’

 

“Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to. Ah you’re proper nervous, aren’t you,’ Eleanor cooed as she moved past him, eyes having spotted a new customer. “You don’t have to be though, Lou, you’re a catch – hello sir, how can I help you?”

 

Louis let out a sigh of relief at the sudden interruption of the clearly unwanted conversation and questioning, but he wasn’t off the hook for long. As soon as he saw Eleanor approaching him, he shook his head.

 

‘I’m not nervous, and I’m not going on a date. It’s an… appointment.’

 

The word tasted foreign on his lips, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed at the situation as he labeled it as a mere appointment.

The frown must have been obvious on his face, because suddenly Eleanor’s face transformed into one of understanding and compassion.

 

“Well, their loss really.”

 

And just like that, Louis realized what Eleanor was thinking, and he let out a surprised laugh.

 

‘I’m not going on a ‘non-date’ El, trust me. I don’t do relationships. I just have an art-related appointment, and you know how art means a lot to me,’ Louis settled on, which finally seemed to settle Eleanor as she nodded at his explanation.

 

Encouraging as she was, she smiled big at him, “so I was right about you being nervous! What’s it about? Or can’t you tell me? You know what, just let me know how your meeting went and take the rest of the day off. If you want to prepare or something.”

 

It was a lovely offer, and any other person might’ve taken the opportunity – but Louis knew that he couldn’t afford it. He needed every hour to get the full wage so he could at least send some of it home.

 

‘That’s nice of you El, but I’ll be okay. Distraction’s good,’ Louis said, before moving out from behind the counter as he started cleaning tables.

 

Distraction really _was_ good for him. As much as he tried to deny it, his mind kept slipping back to the curly haired bloke that wanted to learn all there was to know about graffiti. It had left Louis intrigued, and quite frankly, he really couldn’t wait another 12 more hours. So yeah, making coffee for pretentious people and scrubbing the floors of the shop would have to do – only 11 hours and 43 minutes before his nightly … appointment.

 

.........

 

“I’m glad you actually listened to me and decided to stay with your original concept Harry. It is obvious that you’ve developed your clay sculpturing skills during the course of this module,” Professor Barts said.

 

Harry smiled under the praise, but he couldn’t help but keep on glancing at the clock on the wall.

 

‘Thank you very much. You were right about the time frame, if I’d changed the concept I wouldn’t have been able to finish it before the deadline,’ Harry rushed out, wanting to leave the building as soon as possible.

 

His classes had been filled with daydreams and sketches of blue eyes – which even he found slightly obsessive and strange.

 

He’d only seen the Tommo once, and he didn’t even know the man. It didn’t feel right drawing a person without their consent. But everything he did only served to remind him of the fact that if he didn’t find the mural, the sketches were maybe all he’d ever see of him again. And that bothered Harry to no end.

Even Professor Barts seemed to realize that he just didn’t have Harry’s attention, as he let out a chuckle.

 

“What’s got you in such a hurry, then?”

 

Harry doubted for a second, but decided to be somewhat honest – especially since Professor Barts seemed to understand that art was fluid and changeable and had many different forms. He hoped he'd be open to the thought of anything outside of the curriculum. 

 

‘I’m learning how to work spraypaint,’ he said.

 

It was inconspicuous enough to not immediately ring any bells to do with graffiti, but it also allowed Harry the luxury of not having to lie. He hated lying. Partly also because he sucked at it.

 

Professor Barts just raised an eyebrow at him, before nodding slowly. “Right. I thought spraypainters usually worked different hours. They’re nocturnal beings, aren’t they?”

 

So obviously Professor Barts _did_ know what Harry was talking about, but didn’t seem annoyed by it. If anything, he seemed rather amused by his newest choice of art to embrace.

 

Harry shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know, I’m not one of them. I’ve just started learning,’ he continued honestly, ‘but I’m excited.’

 

Harry’s professor just nodded and gave him an encouraging smile, “good. It’s always good to expand your horizons when it comes to creativity. Don’t worry about this module, you definitely passed. Now get out there and admire some spray paint. Southbank or Shoreditch are great areas. You know. To learn.”

 

That was not the reaction that Harry was expecting. Even though he already assumed his professor wouldn’t judge him for wanting to branch out, he wouldn’t have thought that Barts actually had any knowledge on spray paint. To be fair, Harry had always kind of considered all his professors – as nice as they were – to be part of the same elite that went by the book. The book that said graffiti wasn’t art but vandalism. Yet here his professor in sculpturing arts was, encouraging him to give it a try.

 

‘Right, of course. Erm, thank you, professor,’ Harry stammered out, still thrown off by his professor’s attitude towards something Harry had always considered a taboo within the Arts Colleges.

 

And just like that, he found himself back to square one – the outskirts of London at just 5 past 12 with no clue on where Tommo’s mural could be.

Methodically going through all alleys would take Harry far too long, so he’d enlisted the help of one of his friends that knew the city’s art scene better than anyone.  

 

“There y’are, I’ve been waiting on ya for 20 minutes straight!”

 

Harry grinned as Niall sauntered up to him, guitar slung over his shoulder. ‘Sod off, you know that I had class til 12. If I wouldn’t have been able to leave early, I wouldn’t even have been here until at least 13.’

 

Niall shrugged, before giving Harry a one-armed hug. “Then I would’ve been able to shame you for making me wait 1,5 hours. Was just busking over there,” he pointed out an intersection not far from where the two men were standing.

 

‘Good spot?’ Harry asked, to which Niall lifted his shoulders once again.

 

“Mate, I’m working with Ed Sheeran’s producer – I’m playing actual gigs – I’m busking for the fun of it now,” he said with a crooked grin, before slapping Harry on the back.

 

“So – what are we looking for?”

 

Harry let out a whine at Niall’s question, ‘I don’t know! That’s the whole point. Like, I need to find this birds mural. But I don’t know where it is.’

 

“Why do you need to find a birds mural?”

 

Good question, that was. One that Harry couldn’t answer without explaining who he’d met just the night before. And maybe it was stupid, but he didn’t want to share that with anyone. It was his secret to keep.

 

‘I just do,’ Harry pouted, to which Niall lifted his hands in exasperation.

 

“Well how can I help you if you don’t even know what kind of birds mural you’re looking for? Like, are you looking for a random one that features birds or do you mean the one Tommo made this morning or –“

 

‘Tommo made a mural of birds this morning?!’ Harry exclaimed full of hope, interrupting Niall’s string of very valid questions.

 

“Mhm. I can show you where if you want? Maybe it’ll be good enough for you. You’re a strange one, Harry, but I like ya” Niall said with a good-hearted laugh, before motioning for him to follow.

 

It didn’t bother him that Niall said he was strange – he knew that some of the interests he had were quirky. Besides, Niall didn’t mean anything negative by it; he was a strange one himself too and would openly admit to that with no shame whatsoever. It was why they probably got on so well.

 

‘How do you know about it anyway? Do you know him or something?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling a nasty twist in his stomach that he couldn’t quite place. It was just – he kind of felt like Tommo was his secret, and nobody else’s.

 

“Like any other person here – I follow him on Instagram, I thought you’d have seen it by now as well. He posted it like 2 hours ago,” was the reply he got, which settled Harry’s queasy stomach right away.

 

He hadn’t been online ever since that morning before he’d gone to class. It made him smile to himself; of course Tommo would be a cheeky one. He was a successful graffiti artist and he really couldn’t be much older than Harry. He made a mental note to ask him his age that night, as he trudged alongside Niall who led him in and out of alleyways until he saw a beautiful black and white mural in front of him. Featuring two swallows that creepily seemed to match Harry’s own swallow tattoos on his chest.

Unconsciously, one of his hands creeped up his body to scratch over them, tracing the intricate patterns of the birds he’d gotten tattooed on there about 2 years ago. Of course they weren’t identical, that’d be ridiculous – especially since Harry’s tattooed swallows had been specifically designed for him by a tattoo artist. They weren’t facing each other either, whereas the two on Harry’s chest were, but the style resemblance was uncanny.

He quickly shook his head in an attempt to get himself to focus, and took out his phone so he could pin the location into Google Maps.

 

“So, you reckon this is what you were looking for?”

 

Harry answered Niall by way of nodding enthusiastically.

 

‘Yeah, it definitely was. Thanks so much Niall, really,’ he added, wanting to make sure he understood his gratitude as he looked over at his blonde-haired friend.

 

“Great. Shall I leave you to it then? I have a gig at 3, so,” Niall trailed off, obviously not sure whether or not Harry needed company or solitude with the mural he’d been shown.

 

He just smiled, before shooing Niall away, leaving Harry to observe the mural in peace. He loved the meaning of swallows. It was one of the reasons why he’d gotten them tattooed onto his chest - freedom, loyalty, safe journeys, eternal love; they were all important themes to him. He wondered if that was the same to Tommo.

 

‘Just a little over 14 hours, and I’ll get to ask him,’ Harry murmured to himself, before opening Instagram.

 

 **TheTommoGraffiti** Something new, something different.

 

Harry couldn’t help but like the photo immediately, before typing out a comment that he was sure Tommo would never even see – the picture of his artwork had already gotten him 2.4k likes and over 700 comments. Still, when Harry saw an opportunity for a joke, he’d use it.

 

 **Harrystyles @theTommoGraffiti** Killing two birds with one stone, I see.

 

Feeling accomplished at having thought of such a brilliant play on words, Harry swiftly turned around and made his way back home. Fourteen hours. And then his apprenticeship would begin.

 

.........

 

The moment Louis arrived at his mural, he let out a breath of relief as he caught sight of Harry already standing there. He hadn’t been quite sure whether or not Harry would find it in time, even though he’d definitely spotted the comment he’d left on his Instagram page. The mural was in a street that Louis normally never frequented – but the walls were easy to work with and there was just about enough street lighting to see what they were doing. The perfect back alley for a beginner without having to go to the actual outskirts of town.

 

“That joke you made was appalling,” Louis opened, smirking as he saw a look of shock cross over Harry’s face – his hands still fidgeting with the bottle of spray paint Louis’d left behind yesterday.

 

Oh well. He guessed Harry could have them. He’d need some to practice with anyways.

 

‘It was hilarious. Proper quality, that was,’ Harry replied, seeming to have found his footing again as he shot Louis a playful look.

 

And despite his greatest effort not to look amused by him, Louis couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his statement. Truthfully, he’d definitely grinned to himself as soon as he’d seen the comment pop up on his feed.

He quickly scanned Harry up and down, taking in the all black outfit he was wearing. How he’d gotten himself into the black skinny jeans, Louis wasn’t sure, but they did look amazing on him. Well. At least he could appreciate the aesthetic of Harry’s outfit – which was very, very appealing.

 

“I see you followed my advice on the clothing department, good,” Louis praised, then noting with a frown that Harry had also listened to him with regards to the curls.

 

They were hidden away under a beanie, and as much as it was much preferred when it came to visibility and anonymity, Louis had to admit he kinda missed the allure of the bouncy long hair framing Harry’s face.

Not that he’d care of course. It was just – aesthetically pleasing.

 

Harry preened under Louis’ praise though, smiling goofily as he pulled on the beanie covering his hair, before speaking up again. ‘What’s it for though? Is it like, a way to keep your actual clothes clean? Or is it a disguise? Or just to make sure you blend in with the night sky?’

 

The amount of questions being fired at Louis only served to make him smile – he liked the enthusiasm.

 

“I’m gonna go for answer D – all of the above.”

 

Harry gave him an embarrassed smile in return, fidgeting with the can once more, before slowly setting it down on the ground. ‘Right, please do tell me if I’m asking inconsequential stuff or if I’m being annoying, I’m just excited,’ he apologized.

 

Louis wouldn’t have any of it though, shaking his head vigorously, before taking another step towards Harry. He’d been right about the lighting in the street – it was definitely a lot easier to take in his features, and for a second Louis could feel his eyes boring into Harry’s orbs before he quickly looked away again.

 

“My mum always says that questions are never stupid. Not asking questions is the real mistake.”

 

He hadn’t even meant to let that slip.

He’d always been very adamant on keeping Tommo and Louis two separate personas – and his actual mum was definitely not part of the Tommo.

Harry didn’t seem to notice his slip up though, he only seemed endeared by the fact Louis had just referred to his mum.

It made him relax, faltering for a second, before quickly fixing his hoodie and scarf. He might slip up with his mum’s nuggets of wisdom; he would never forget to ensure his disguise was in place. He’d make sure Harry knew that as well at the end of their first session.

Louis’ hands itched to start spraying, so he crouched down on the street, taking off his own backpack and settling it on the ground a couple of feet away from the wall. He reached into it and grabbed a hold of a black spray can.

Triumphantly, Louis rose back to his full height, before appraising Harry with a mischievous look.  

 

“Well. Harold, my apprentice. Are you ready to start your first graffiti lesson?”

 

Mirroring Louis, Harry quickly bent down to grab a hold of the spray can once more, gripping it tightly in an attempt to calm his own nerves. Good nerves, though. Excited nerves.

 

‘Never been more ready in my life,’ he stated with determination, to which Louis smiled fondly and nodded in reply.

 

“Alright then, here we go.”


	8. Chapter Eight

Louis was fairly sure he’d be able to bluff his way through this lesson – or demonstration, or whatever it was. Curly didn’t have to know he had no experience whatsoever with teaching someone else, but he kind of liked the fact that Harry gave him so much authority. It made him feel valued and important, and maybe a bit giddy.

Not that he’d ever admit to the last one.

 

 “Let’s go through some basic rules first,” Louis started off – trying to sound stern yet casual at the same time. Harry just nodded diligently, obviously trying to pay attention.

It looked endearing, and it almost made Louis think that if it weren’t dark, Harry would be taking out a notepad to jot down Louis’ remarks as if it were a lecture.

“Rule number one: You do not tell anyone about the fact we do graffiti,” Louis started, to which Harry’s eyes started to sparkle with excitement.

“Rule number two: You do not tell ANYONE about the fact you know Tommo, or spraypaint with him.”

He paused, eyes boring into Harry’s green ones, imploring that he was serious. When Harry gave another nod as if to signal for him to continue, Louis smirked, before speaking up again.

 

“Rule number three: If I tell you ‘stop’, you stop, grab your stuff and run. I don’t want any interference from police or anyone else for that matter.

Rule number four: It’s just you and me. Don’t bring others – or go to other graffiti artists. They’re not all nice and genuine, not even in Shoreditch,” Louis said, seeing Harry swallow almost nervously at the mention of other graffiti artists in London.

It was clear he wanted to ask questions, but Louis shook his head, motioning him to wait.

“Rule number five: We will do one mural at the time. Don’t start on more than one project, because you won’t finish them and you’ll have wasted space, time and effort.

Rule number six: Always wear a black disguise.

Rule number seven: A mural is _your_ art – so you take the time you need to finish it. Don’t let something unfinished for long though, because apparently people will swoop in to take over,” he added the last bit, immediately getting a rise out of Harry who hunched over in an attempt to make himself smaller.

 

The pretty blush on his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by Louis though, thanks to the streetlights nearby. It elicited an unwanted smile from him – which he quickly tried to hide. He needed Harry to know he was serious.

“Rule number 8: You learn by doing, so you’re making a mural today, and every time we will meet up henceforth,” Louis finished – quite proud of himself.

 

‘I feel like I’ve signed up for Graf-Fight-ti Club,’ Harry said, laughing at his own joke. It startled Louis a bit. Even though he’d obviously been referencing the movie scene throughout his little speech, he hadn’t counted on Harry acknowledging it. Besides, it was probably the worst play on words he’d ever heard in his life, but the purity of Harry’s giddiness made Louis crack an amused smile nonetheless.

‘Sorry – I’m not trying to be funny – well I was just for a bit, but I swear, ‘m very serious about this,’ Harry apologized once he’d wheezed out the last of his laugh. It made Louis want to coddle him; who even laughed like that whilst still managing to look, well, cute?

“Good. You got all of that then? The Fight Club should make it easier to remember it all,” Louis said with a raised eyebrow, trying to ignore his latest thoughts. It irked him that he still hadn’t quite figured why in heaven’s name he’d agreed – even offered himself, to do this in the first place. The fact that he’d somehow on a whim decided to tolerate this person with a strange sense of humor was something Louis did not know how to deal with.  

 

 

‘I think I did – I mean, yeah, I did,’ Harry corrected himself, trying to focus on the words rather than the distractingly blue eyes of Tommo.

It frustrated him to no end that he still hadn’t seen his full face – but he guessed that the disguise was an integral part of the whole graffiti thing. And going by what he’d just been told, Harry needed to seriously work on his own disguise – including a pseudonym. Where Harry was fine with standing out in life – he knew he was peculiar and maybe a bit quirky – he so badly wanted to just fit in here. He couldn’t afford to stand out in this world where he was the newcomer, not yet at least, and he didn’t really want to either.

“Great. So, let’s get right to it. You see this mural I made? I want you to tell me if you think it’s finished or not,” Tommo interrupted Harry’s thought process, startling him.

‘Right. Well. Hmm. Let’s see,’ Harry said.

He wasn’t quite sure where Tommo was going to go with this – and he still felt bad after the reference he’d made about unfinished works. Normally Harry was a pretty good judge of character, and he felt sure that he’d only been joking, albeit lightly.

Yet, he couldn’t know with full certainty, simply because he didn’t know Tommo – he didn’t even know his real name. And without being able to see his facial expressions, it really was difficult to get a read on him either. He felt a bit lost. He just so badly wanted to give the right answer, but he didn’t know what _would_ be the right answer.

His eyes flickered over the mural, taking in the precise lining of the birds’ wings, as he was once more surprised at how much the birds resembled his own swallow tattoos.

‘Why’d you make them black and white’ Harry muttered – he was genuinely curious about it, but he hadn’t meant to actually wonder about it out loud. He widened his eyes as he realized what he’d done, then turned to his mentor, ready to apologize. However, the artist didn’t seem bothered by Harry’s question at all. Instead, he gave him a small nod as to say it was a very valid question and he was happy he’d asked it. The gesture made Harry want to smile.  

 

“Good question, Harold. Some artworks don’t need colours to stand out. I wanted to show you a different form of graffiti than the one you’ve done before yourself. Sometimes colour will makes things pop, or stand out – but sometimes you want people to focus on the fine art, rather than the bigger picture. Simplicity sometimes is the best way to showcase intricacy and complexity. Though I have to correct you, it’s not black and white. There’s grey in there too. And that’s important, because you can’t mix colours as easily on a wall with spraypaint as you would do with normal paint.”

Harry soaked up every word, before turning back to the mural. He still had no clue what exactly he was looking for, but he figured he’d know when he’d find it. And surely, in the process of letting his eyes rake over the mural once again, he finally spotted what he needed to see whether or not the piece was finished.

 

‘It’s finished.’

 

 

Harry’s sudden statement surprised Louis, the deep voice ringing throughout the abandoned alley. He sighed to himself in both amusement and irritation, wanting to tell the man off for being so loud, but refrained from doing so after catching sight of the proud, satisfied like on Harry’s face with the knowledge he’d figured it out.

Besides, Louis was pretty sure that he couldn’t help the fact his voice was so deep.

Asking him to keep quiet was just going to end up being a lost cause.

“Well, why do you think is it finished,” Louis asked him with a raised eyebrow, although he was pretty sure Harry knew exactly why. He just wanted to make him sweat a bit.

Harry didn’t seem to mind, only grinned confidently in response before pointing at the tag underneath the wings of the bird on the right.

‘You placed your tag there.’

“Correct,” Louis nodded. “Having a signature is probably the most important thing in graffiti and street art. Which is why we will start with just that. Show me your tag.”

Louis knew that he was putting Harry on the spot, but the first thing he’d need to learn was can control, and he needed to develop his own style. Best way to identify his level in both, was by letting him work out a tag.

 

 

‘What? _Now_? I don’t – I’m not sure what it should look like. Can I draw it out first?’ Harry asked unsurely, clearly feeling very much out of his element.

It was new to him, being out of his comfort zone when it involved art. He was used to experimenting and learning and not caring about the final result. Yet here, he felt pressured to succeed. He wanted to impress, wanted to do well. And he knew that although art came natural to him, this was so different, he just wasn’t quite sure how it would turn out. And the last thing he wanted was to disappoint the person who’d so generously offered to teach him.

What if he did such a bad job that he’d be sent home right away, or Tommo would just get up and go right there and then?

“Well come on, we don’t have all night,” he could hear somewhere to his left.

Harry immediately turned his head back from the wall he’d been staring at, feeling instantly comforted by the sparkling mischievous blue eyes that he found staring back at him. Tommo was obviously only teasing, or at least – Harry hoped so, because he was still shitting bricks.

“You already painted over one of my murals and didn’t muck that up completely – what’s holding you back?”

Technically, he was right. But then again, Harry hadn’t known at the time. And he hadn’t used spray paint then either.

He’d _never_ used spraypaint.

And he knew that once on the wall, he couldn’t redo it – couldn’t take it back.

 

‘What if I screw up?’ He wondered out loud, unsure of whether or not he should even try, which was a new feeling that unsettled him. Insecurity wasn’t part of Harry’s books before, and he wasn’t quite certain why he suddenly felt so unhinged.

“Then you do it again, and again, and again as long as it takes for you to not cock up anymore. Like I said, best way to practice and learn the skills is by doing.”

It seemed simple as, when Tommo explained it like that. And maybe it all wasn’t such a big deal as Harry made it out to be. His mentor was hardly born with a spray can attached to his hands – so why should Harry be scared of not doing a good job right away? He was an apprentice after all, not a professional.

So he shook his head, and rolled his shoulders and neck, before reaching out to grab a hold of the black spray can.

‘Right. Okay then,’ Harry muttered to himself, making Louis’ lips draw up into a smile unconsciously.

 

 

It was endearing to see the level of concentration on Harry’s face, his _apprentice_ , as he seemed to think very hard about what he was going to spray onto the wall.

If it would’ve been anyone else, Louis would’ve gotten impatient by now, and probably done something reckless to express his annoyance and hopefully push the other one along.

But although he was still impatient, something about Harry made him want to be gentle instead. He was about to coax him again, when Harry suddenly moved his arm towards the wall.

He shook his head as soon as it happened – Harry’s technique was so off and without any can control, that Louis could already predict how the tag would turn out; runny, and inconsistent.

But he knew that Harry had seen that himself as well, judging from the pouty shape of his lips. Instead, Louis focused on what he’d chosen to be his tag – and couldn’t help but feel a bit of disappointment at the lack of creativity.

 

“HES? Are those your initials?” He asked incredulously, before slowly turning back towards Harry.

‘Well, I mean, yes,’ Harry said slowly, obviously picking up on the fact that his decision wasn’t up to par with Louis’ idea of a tag.

“You do know that it’s a tag, not your _actual_ signature?”

A frown etched itself onto Harry’s face, and it made Louis want to laugh – which only made him want to tease more. The disgruntled kitten look suited him well.

 

“I mean – what’s it stand for? H..E…S.. Harold… Ebenezer.. Styles? Or maybe.. Harold…Ernest…Styles?”

Harry opened his mouth in protest, but Louis just shook his head as he grinned to himself, motioning for him to stay quiet.

“Oh no, I’ve got it! Harold Edmund Styles. That must be it. Very posh, hmm,” he teased, squinting his eyes as he pretended to look him up and down.

‘I told you this before – my name’s Harry, not Harold. And my second name’s Edward. Not Edmund. Or Ebenezer – how many times have you watched a Christmas Carol to even think of that name?’ Harry replied dryly, although he seemed genuinely surprised, yet amused at Louis’ peculiar choice of random names starting with an E.

 

He just shrugged, before pointing to the tag. “Regardless of what those letters stand for, the tag should show your personality – who you are as an artist. I don’t think H. E. S. is your personality.”  

‘You don’t even know _me_ ,’ Harry replied stubbornly, to which Louis just raised an eyebrow.

“I know your name is Harry Edward Styles, and you sound posh. You must be from somewhere near Cheshire. You’re curly, tall, you like to see the good in people and you hate limitations. But most of all, you love art and appreciate it in every shape or form. Am I right?”

Louis’ words seemed to have hit their mark, as Harry just nodded dumbly.

 

Deciding to take a different approach, Louis reached into his own backpack and got out a pencil and a sketchbook.

“Do you have a nickname aside from Harold, Harold?”

‘Some of my friends call me Hazza,’ he answered sheepily, rubbing his neck out of discomfort with the whole situation, or so Louis guessed.

“Would you be alright with some friends seeing that on random walls in London?”

‘Yes, that’s fine, I mean, well I guess they wouldn’t mind so much either, but – argh, why should I even bother?! I’m obviously rubbish at this! Just look at that first try, it’s all runny and shit! And I couldn’t even come up with my own tag –’ Harry moaned out, running his hands over his face in clear frustration.

 

Louis sighed, and before he realized what he was doing, he reached over to grab a hold of the other man’s wrists and pushed the pencil and sketchbook into his hands. 

“Who you choose as your friends reflects on who you are as a person. But in the end, it’s you who decides who you want to be. So draw it. You know – graffiti’s not easy. Street art isn’t easy. I offered to teach you, but I won’t do it if you’re going to have a nervous breakdown and give up after your first attempt,” he added, motioning towards the sketchbook.

 

“And whenever the wall doesn’t listen, give paper a try.”

 

Something about that must've resonated with Harry, who now seemed determined to make it work – he was at least scribbling something into the sketchbook. Or well, more like a notebook. It’d been cheaper than the fancy sketchbook ones, and Louis usually just created his ideas for murals on the walls themselves so he didn’t really need the luxurious version anyway.

 

‘So is Tommo your nickname then?’

 

Louis was surprised by the question and glanced over at Harry whilst fixing his hoodie in reflex. They’d dodged the topic of his name for so long that he’d kind of forgotten about the whole thing.  “Well it is now, isn’t it,” he decided to settle on in the end, voicing it with an air of finality that he hoped Harry would recognize as the end of that discussion.

Harry hummed in response, before looking down at his sketch again.

It made Louis narrow his eyes, as he couldn't help himself but ask, “what was that?”

The question made Harry duck into his coat as if he’d been blushing, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nothing, I only said that you just don’t seem like a Thomas to me,’ to which Louis rolled his eyes.

“Well that’s easy – it’s because I’m _not_ a Thomas. Now show me what you got,” he demanded as he tried to peer at the sketch Harry had made of his tag-to-be, effectively cutting off the discussion about his identity once more.

 

‘So er, this is it? I mean, this is it,' Harry tried again, sounding much more confident about the design the second time around.  

It was simple, but unique.

The tag read ‘Hazza,’ slightly cursive although not entirely so, with the two z’s connected to one another. Louis didn’t want to comment on the design – that was Harry’s alone and he needed to own it.

So all he did was motion towards the wall.

 

“Try it again. Keep your arm steady, lock your elbow. And constant pressure,” he advised with regards to the black can. 

He supposed that it would’ve been fair to tell Harry that the can he was using just wasn’t really meant for this kind of work anyway, but with his lack of technique, it really didn’t matter all that much. He needed to learn how to properly hold the can first, and how to apply pressure.  

 

Louis crouched to the ground, clinging his hands together as he waited for Harry to finish. He could feel the urge in his fingers – itching to make another mural, but he hadn't brought the right equipment for it, and he wasn't about to borrow the shitty can Harry was holding.

Besides, he thought absentmindedly, he probably would have to get used to not being able to make murals every other night anyway. If he were to go back to school whilst working parttime, he’d need all the sleep he could get.

 

His eyes slid back over to Harry, who had taken several steps back to critically look at his newest handiwork. It was still runny, and inconsistent – but at least the idea, the design was good. It was clear that he had talent, and Louis was pleased that he’d spotted that in the previous accidental murals Harry had done.

 

‘It looks like shit,’ Harry decided with downturned lips.  

“It looks like a beginner, and guess what – you are one,” Louis argued, crossing his arms as he got up from his crouched position.

 

Harry didn’t say anything in return, seemingly trying to come to terms with the idea that he was a beginner in something art-related. It was obvious he was studying art – his technique, his choice of spraying can, his posture, his perfectionism – it all gave him away. Which explained the discontent written all over Harry’s face at being faced with this new challenge.

But Louis also recognized the determined glint in his eyes – there was perseverance there. Harry wanted to learn, and he would master it; of that Louis was sure.

 

 

“Well, how old were you when you started with – well, all this?” Harry asked, motioning towards the wall. Perhaps knowing that information would give him a bit of perspective on what to expect from his own skills and potential improvement over time. 

Tommo shot him a suspicious look, but then shrugged his shoulders apologetically. ‘I suppose it must’ve been a couple of years now – I’m not quite sure actually. I want to say 18, but my memory’s shit mate.’

Harry mentally kicked himself for obviously trying and failing to be subtle, especially when he followed up on his own question by proceeding to ask how many years ago that was. He didn’t even quite understand why he was so insistent on asking – if he was being honest with himself, it had absolutely nothing to do with perspective or expectations. 

In fact, it was entirely unclear to him why he so desperately wanted to know something so trivial about an individual that was basically a stranger to him. He didn’t even know the man’s real name, for God’s sake. Then again, maybe it was exactly the mystery and intrigue that surrounded Tommo which left Harry craving for any information on him whatsoever.

But he wasn’t giving him anything. Instead, he just got a sly smile in return. ‘Was that an attempt at asking me how old I am? Harold, I have to say, I’m shocked. I expected you to know better than to ask for someone’s age, that is entirely inappropriate.’

 

The amused lilt in his voice made Harry want to push for more though, so he shrugged and tilted the corner of his lips into a smirk.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware we would hold ourselves to proper etiquette, what with the painting on walls and all. I do apologize, good Sir,” he feigned dramatically, making Tommo’s smile widen in approval.

‘You need not apologise to me, young man. T’is the wall that needs it! With a proper tag, this time,’ Tommo commanded with a posh accent, making Harry snort.

 

 

Louis felt relief wash over him as he’d successfully dodged the questions Harry wanted to ask him unscathed. Though, surprisingly, he didn’t even feel that annoyed about Harry pressuring him.

To be fair, he could understand the fixation to some extent.

And it’s not that Louis hadn’t thought about just replying, because that had in all honesty been his knee-jerk reaction.

Which scared him.

He’d gotten so good at separating Tommo from Louis, he sometimes didn’t even know how to talk about _Louis_ rather than Tommo. He’d never felt his armour slip away from him so easily, and he didn’t want to think about what had made it happen.

So instead, he just focused on Harry’s continued attempts at creating his tag, giving him pointers to improve his can control.

They practiced like that for about another 30 minutes, until Louis was starting to become increasingly anxious about potential police patrols in the area and decided to call the session quits.  

 

‘Alright - what do we do now?'

Louis couldn’t help but smile at the almost lost look on Harry’s face at the prospect of breaking this up and each of them going their separate ways.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic, curly. You just make sure you practice, and we see each other here again in two days, alright? Same spot, same time.”

He didn’t even wait for an answer, just grabbed a tight hold of his backpack, before turning around and marching off into the darkness.

 

A smirk spread across his face as he thought of Harry’s startled slack-jawed expression when he’d made his quick exit from the scene.

 

Oh well, what could he say – he always did have a bit of a flair for dramatics.


	9. Chapter Nine

It had been a month since Louis had started meeting up with Harry in the dead of night, trying to teach the boy the graffiti basics and he was definitely beginning to see improvement in Harry’s skills. He was obviously talented, which was something that both made Louis smile at his pupil fondly, even though he could also feel something ugly claw at his chest.

Harry was an actual art student – he was being trained to earn his money creating art at one of the best, most prestigious schools in the UK, if not the world. And Louis was just mucking around spraying stuff on walls. In a strange way, it felt nice to have someone in such a position look up at him so much. But it also made him intrigued, he didn’t quite get why someone that privileged would be interested in graffiti and street art.

He’d asked Harry, who’d just shrugged and had turned the question around, asking Louis about his interest in street art. Which. Well, Louis didn’t really have anything to say to that, well did he?

Still, he didn’t let Harry ask him too many questions. Most of the time he deflected, by pointing out small things that the curly haired lad could’ve done differently on his artwork. He could see the frustration grow each time he didn’t answer Harry’s questions, but continued to ask his own. Yet, he also continued to indulge Louis, telling him about his courses and college. And Harry only ever gave him a defeated smile as he once again refused to tell him his own name.

It wasn’t fair, but then again, life wasn’t fair. Louis had learned how to play the game, and he wasn’t about to give that up for a boy that had somehow started getting under his skin.

…

Louis was late.

Louis was really, really late and in an incredibly bad mood.

It had taken much longer than expected to close up shop that afternoon, what with the final customer dropping their frappuccinos on the just cleaned floor, which had resulted in Louis redoing their order as well as having to mop the floor all over again. The whole process had made him more than an hour late at home, which Zayn had taken as a good enough reason to just order dinner without him.

Neither of them cooked really, so they usually just ordered food or survived on the meals their mums cooked them whenever they came to visit. Which meant that not only was Louis late, he didn’t have any food waiting for him when he arrived home. Obviously it wasn’t the biggest deal – he just ordered another pizza to be sent to their dingy apartment, but it did mean he would have to delay his plans for later that night. Especially since he’d also promised Zayn to go over his latest dissertation draft.

The problem with delaying his plans, was that those plans involved a certain Harry Styles and graffiti.  Which apparently Zayn was very much aware of, as he gave Louis a knowing glance after he let out another sigh of frustration whilst reading through another page of Zayn’s work.

‘Can’t wait to see your boy again?’

The question immediately got Louis on the defensive – he’d never said anything of the sorts about Harry to Zayn. In fact, he really tried to _not_ talk about him at all when Zayn was around. He’d teased him for a full week after he found out that Louis had made sure he wouldn’t paint over someone else’s art by offering himself up as a street art teacher. So much for his reputation as a troublemaker.

“Fuck off Z, he’s not my boy.”

Zayn pretended to ignore his comment and continued to hedge him, ‘I mean, I still don’t fully understand how your plan to enact revenge upon the paint bomber involves seeing him this often, especially when you could instead be making more mural pieces. Have you even made any art yourself aside from the two pieces you did with me two weeks ago?’

“I was just busy, and ‘m gonna go tonight,” Louis snapped, realizing belatedly that although he was honestly planning to go tonight – he was planning to go with Harry. Annoyed at Zayn’s ability to see right through him, he just wished he would’ve kept his mouth shut completely.

‘Really? Where’d you plan on going,’ Zayn asked curiously, taking a bite from the pizza that Louis’d ordered, earning himself another glare.

 “Somewhere near S- why do you even want to know? You’re only distracting me from helping you, you realize that yeah? I’m sacrificing precious time to help you with your final dissertation and instead you’re interrogating me.”

Zayn raised his hands in defense, and nodded knowingly, which only served to annoy Louis even more. Riled up and feeling like jumping out of his own skin, he stood up as he took one look at the clock on the microwave. He’d be too early to meet Harry at their usual spot, but he could instead take that time to make a mural himself.

“I’m gonna go now, I’ll finish reading it when I come back – it’s still beyond me why you’d want me to be your proofreader, but I’ll have it back to you tomorrow morning.”

 

The suddenness of Louis’ decision obviously startled his friend, although he seemed torn between commenting on Louis’ ability to be a proofreader and asking about his apparent need to disappear as he haphazardly started throwing things in a backpack.                                        

They’d been friends long enough now that Zayn knew doing the former would make absolutely no difference to Louis, and the latter would probably not get him any answers either. So he settled for quietly supporting his roommate, offering him some spray cans that were lying around and Louis had obviously missed in his rush to sneak out.

 

As soon as Louis looked up at his friend though, he immediately felt uneasy under his gaze. “What? I’m just gonna go do some murals, your dissertation got me all inspired.”

Zayn narrowed his eyes at him, and just shook his head. “We both know that my analysis on the evolution of ‘the other’ in English literature over the 20th century is _not_ going to inspire you.”

Louis shrugged, suddenly hating the annoying quality of his best friend to bite into any conversation topic like a pitbull if he wanted to. He was about to try and lie his way out of it, when Zayn’s eyes glossed over with realization.

‘You _are_ going to meet up with that kid again tonight,’ he said triumphantly, nodding to himself with Righa smug grin on his face.

“What are you on about mate?” Louis said testily, shifting in his position as he ruffled around his pockets to check for cigarettes. He was not in the mood to be teased by Zayn.

‘All I'm saying is that your commitment to your revenge is admirable, giving private graffiti lessons almost every other night,’ Zayn grinned to himself.

Louis just grumbled, and lifted his middle finger for Zayn to see. It’s not that he minded the teasing so much – usually Louis could receive as much as he gave. But it was the content of Zayn’s remarks that made him frown to himself in disappointment. Had it really been that long since he’d made a mural? Had he been _that_ consumed by Harry that he hadn’t even stopped to think about his own art? It’s not like he didn’t have any inspiration.   

 

 “He’s a talented bloke, and a good lad. Don’t tell me you’re feeling neglected Z – I promise no one will take your place. Harry doesn’t even know my name,” Louis teased, feeling relieved as he could see his attempt to distract Zayn had worked.

‘Right,’ his friend scoffed, obviously still nonplussed about – well, something that Louis didn’t even bother at finding out right now. He was in a rush, and he felt pressured by Zayn into thinking about things he didn’t want to. What he needed, was to get out of the building and just paint. So instead of replying, Louis hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders, and rushed out the door and towards the tube.

 

……

 

Harry was early.

Really, very early.

He hadn’t planned to be that early – he was normally very punctual and would arrive perfectly on time wherever he had to be. He just thought it was rude to be the last one to show up, but he also didn’t like having to wait too long for other people to meet him.

Today though, Harry had finished his art history class early and had already gone through his exhaustive list of friends from college to hang out with. He didn’t particularly like the idea of going home, before having to head back to the place where he’d been meeting Tommo.

So instead, Harry decided he would just immediately go to his ‘training ground’, as he saw it, and get a head start on practicing with the spray cans that were starting to get suspiciously empty.

It felt weird being there during the day though, the place wasn’t nearly as dark and obscure as seemed to be the norm whenever he showed up there to learn. However, Harry suspected he felt mostly out of place because he didn’t have his tutor here. He wanted to say that Tommo and he were on their way to becoming friends, but then he also had to admit that he still didn’t even know his first name. He wondered if it was possible to be friends with a stranger, having that sense of familiarity despite actually knowing anything about them.

Harry shrugged to himself, and proceeded to get out all of his equipment before walking over towards an empty piece of the wall. It almost felt wrong to even consider creating something without Tommo’s supervision, as he craved the guidance and praise of his idol. But, being able to do it on his own was the reason why he’d even started the whole thing, so he determinedly raised his spray can to the wall.

He was definitely getting better at the whole process. He held the cans with a bit more confidence and he was able to spray consistent layers of paint onto the surface of choice. They’d begun building up from his tag to integrate colors and shading, covering a bigger chunk of the wall each time. Yet it was hard for Harry to admit that he just wasn’t as much of a natural at this as he was in actual painting. It took effort for him to pick up on all the precise techniques, a lot more than it had ever taken him to pick up on painting.

 

Harry was so caught up in the process of shading his tag that he didn’t even notice someone come up behind him.

‘Well, well well, you’re here early,’ Tommo suddenly spoke up, making Harry jump as he realized he was no longer alone.

As a result, his hands shot out and he mucked up his latest attempt at creating the perfect tag.

“Jesus, was that necessary?”

Tommo grinned as his hand lingered on Harry’s hip, as if trying to make sure he was actually alright after jumping.

‘My name’s not Jesus either, but I’m flattered by your guess,’ he said cheekily.

Still, as Harry regarded his face he could note something was off. His eyes looked stormy, as if he wasn’t entirely himself.  And Harry didn’t like that. Didn’t like any of his friends to be upset or struggling with something, at least not without letting them know he’d be there for them if they needed his support. And even though he still didn’t know Tommo’s true name, he knew _him,_ considered the person standing so close to him a good friend. So he asked.

“You’re early here too. What made you want to run here?”

Apparently, though, he shouldn’t have.

Because within three seconds, the hand that had been comfortably resting on Harry’s hip was gone, and Tommo’s eyes narrowed slightly.

‘Wow, going for the million-dollar question right away. I didn’t realize I needed to explain myself to you,’ he bit out with a sarcastic laugh.

Harry immediately raised his hands in defense, trying to pacify him. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, ‘s just – you have this look in your eyes, and well. I shouldn’t have assumed I suppose, sorry about that. I just kind of thought maybe you wanted someone to talk, cause, like, well, if it was me, I’d quite like someone to talk to.”

The steely look seemed to fade from Tommo’s face, instead some sort of fondness creeping into it, eyes sparkling mischievously once more. ‘I’d come to a normally deserted area which has absolutely nothing going for it except this spraypainted wall for a chat?’

“You can speak through art, and sometimes silence holds all the answers,” Harry said with a shrug to his shoulders and a small smile on his face.

Obviously, he knew that Tommo hadn’t shown up just to talk to Harry. He couldn’t have known Harry was there to begin with. Yet it did mean that this place resembled some sort of safe haven, a sanctuary to him and Harry was honored that he had been invited into that space.

His answer seemed to placate Tommo even further, a mix of wonder and confusion on his face as he regarded Harry for a bit, before nodding and taking the bottle of spraypaint that Harry had been holding.

‘You know the Dalai Lama said that? Silence is sometimes the best answer,’ Tommo spoke up as he started writing on the wall, before continuing to speak. ‘You know what Charles de Gaulle said about silence? It’s the ultimate weapon of power.’  

 

He took a step back, showing Harry the sentence he’d sprayed onto the wall.

 

“Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks – Plutarch,” Harry read out loud, looking over at Tommo confused.

 

‘I think silence’s never the answer. It’s a powerful tool, but it’s not an answer,’ he explained, leaving Harry to stare at him with a dumbfounded expression.

 

‘Come, if we hurry we’ll be able to get you new spray cans before the shops close, because these are pathetically empty. No respectable artist would work with these anymore.’

And just like that Harry realized he had been successfully distracted and derailed from the topic at hand by Tommo. Like he always did whenever Harry seemed to ask something of him he wasn’t willing to give. Perhaps he should find it frustrating, but it only served to intrigue him that much more. So all he did was follow the man who was clad in his black skinny jeans and his Adidas jacket, a big scarf hiding his lower face and a snapback obscuring most of his features aside from his eyes.

 

…

 

“Who’s Plutarch? I’m assuming that’s not your name either,” Harry asked as they hurriedly made their way through a maze of narrow alleys.

Louis couldn’t help but grin at the question, before shaking his head. ‘Plutarch, he’s a Greek writer, or well – biographer really. And no, not quite my name.’

He’d been a bit taken aback by Harry’s concern for him earlier, but he realized the genuine concern for his wellbeing had him charmed. Yet, that charm was exactly part of the problems that Louis was unwilling to analyze for himself. Thus he went for the next best option, which was distraction. It was why he’d suggested getting Harry new paint cans.

“Hm, too bad. I quite liked it,” he could hear the younger boy hum behind him. Louis turned around at that and gave him an incredulous look.

‘You can’t be serious – you do realize that Plutarch is a name that people shouldn’t use outside of literature? Like, it’s not meant for people to use as an actual first name, ‘m quite sure.’

“Well, _I’m_ quite sure that there was a character named Plutarch in the Hunger Games and Katniss was a top 20 name in 2014, so who’s to say Plutarch won’t follow,” Harry replied cheekily, making Louis snort involuntarily.

He raised an eyebrow, ‘Harold, please tell me you’re aware of the fact I was born way before 2014.’

Harry let out a short grin before he shrugged his shoulders with a pout on his lips. “How would I know? It’s not like you ever told me how old you are.”

‘Fair enough,’ Louis replied.

 

He cracked a grin at the fact that Harry didn’t seem annoyed, but rather amused by that fact, and almost preened when Louis acknowledged his witty comments. He was about to continue with their banter when he suddenly heard Harry trip before he felt the lanky boy’s body colliding with his own.

Which. Well. That was something Louis hadn’t seen coming and definitely hadn’t prepared for. In an attempt to shield himself from the cobblestones, Louis managed to land on top of Harry, which at least provided a somewhat softer surface.

However, the scarf that he’d been using to obscure his face with, as well as his snapback hadn’t managed to stay in place, and it suddenly made Louis feel incredibly naked and vulnerable.

 

“Oops?” Harry huffed out from underneath Louis’ body, as if not entirely sure what the best way was to approach the situation.

Louis surprised himself though, when he realized he didn’t feel panic rise in his throat at the thought of Harry actually seeing him, perhaps even _knowing_ him. Although he still though that it would be strange, and a tad scary, he’d also come to trust the art student over the past couple of weeks. He quite liked the curly lad, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to trust someone aside from Zayn in London. He could start collecting more beautiful faces, maybe even start a boyband.

‘For someone your age you should really work on your coordination and walking skills,’ he murmured fondly, patting Harry’s firm chest before pushing himself upwards.

 

Harry seemed to have a bit more trouble with recovering, who seemed to be stuck on staring at Louis. It almost made Louis concerned, as he wondered the possible consequences of Harry having hit his head on the street.

‘You alright?’

“I – you - your face,” Harry breathed out, making Louis laugh in relief.

‘Yes, I have a face. This too, should not come as a surprise to you. People generally have faces,’ he teased, now rolling off of Harry in an effort to make himself look presentable again. Louis supposed that the scarf and snapback were no longer necessary as a disguise, so he stuffed them in his backpack, before looking back at the still stunned Harry.

“Jesus, I’ve talked to you before, haven’t I? We talked about your mural, and I – you’ve got such beautiful eyes, how did I not see that they were the exact same color blue?” Harry asked in amazement, apparently being very intent on making Louis blush, who therefore instantly regretted not putting his scarf and snapback back on.

‘I’ll have you know that my eyes are bluey-greeny-blue, actually, not just blue. Now come on you big oaf, get up off the floor – we’re running on a tight schedule.’

“Pretty sure the running caused this in the first place. Though I’m not complaining,” Harry murmured, probably not realizing that Louis could definitely overhear him. He just grinned to himself, deciding that it’d be best to keep his mouth shut if he wanted to make it to the store without embarrassing either of them.

He tried to walk a bit slower in an attempt to ensure Harry’d keep up to speed without sprawling himself all over the cobblestones again, but it only served to make Louis feel hyper aware of Harry’s presence. He could literally feel the heat emanate from Harry’s skin whenever their arms would brush even the slightest. It should’ve made Louis feel uncomfortable, and he could feel a slightly panicky tug at the back of his brain, but he ignored it.

 

Harry was just a mate, he was just interested in graffiti, and Louis was just taking him to an art shop.

That was it, Louis repeated in his head before coming to a halt as they’d reached their destination, making Harry’s shoulder bump into his for just a small second when he stilled himself.

  
“Hey, this is where I usually go to buy my art supplies too,” Harry suddenly exclaimed, face scrunching up in excitement before making his way inside, this time leaving a dumbstruck Louis behind. He quickly shook out of it, and followed right after the curly haired lad.

Finding Harry talking to the shop owner that Louis had tried to ignore almost every time he got there, made him snort. Of course he’d be friendly with them – he was pretty sure Harry was friendly with almost everyone he’d ever met.

“Spray paint, hm? I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing,” he could hear the guy say. It made Louis frown, sizing him up before deciding to ignore him and instead put his hand on Harry’s biceps demonstratively.

‘Come on Harold, we’ve got shopping to do,’ Louis demanded, pulling him towards the section with canned paints.

‘I’m going to let you choose, but I’m also going to expect you to choose the right brand,’ Louis reasoned, a smile creeping onto his face as he regarded Harry’s eyes widening at the sheer variety of bottles and cans. Still, there was also familiarity in them, like he’d expected some sort of test already. It’s funny, how Harry kind of just _got_ Louis.

He grinned easily, before taking a look at the brand of the spray cans currently residing in his own bag.

“What’s in it for me though? What do I get if I guess right,” Harry asked him – his dimples popping out, eyes focusing on the brand of the cans and immediately taking them out of the equation.

Louis immediately retorted. ‘You’ll get good paint, obviously’.

It didn’t seem to convince Harry, who was now starting intently at the shelves, taking a step closer to observe a different brand. Slowly, he shook his head.

“Trial and error would get me good paint too. Nope, I want something good if I get it right at once,” he replied eventually, eyes twinkling. Louis regarded him silently, urging him on to finish his thought. He was kind of dreading the idea of Harry wanting to ask him what he thought he was going to ask. On the other hand, they’d been hanging out almost daily for about a month now – he already saw Louis’ face, making him recognizable on the streets. Giving out his name, he presumed, wouldn’t change anything anymore.

“I want to know your name.”

Yeah. That time, Louis did see it coming. Still, he surprised himself when he nodded almost right away, even when he could feel a part of him struggling with the idea of compromising his own identity. A part of him was hoping that Harry would fail so he wouldn’t have to tell him, and it kind of made Louis feel pathetic.

‘Deal. ‘s not like you’ll be able to get it in one go,’ Louis replied confidently, but the look on Harry’s face told him otherwise.

And if there was one thing that he had picked up on Harry over the last couple of weeks, was that he was incredibly stubborn.

If he wanted something, and if he believed in something, he’d give his all in order to reach his goal – whether that meant convincing Louis of the horrors of Sea World, or becoming increasingly good at graffiti and street art in general.

Louis had kind of hoped that Harry’s education would throw him off, and expected him to go for the same brands as that puppy guy had mentioned the last time Louis’d been in. However, Harry had smartly ignored the cans he was holding – they were an old set of average paint, okay for a beginner, but not Louis’ preference. Instead, he was inching closer towards the shelves once more, inspecting one can in particular before placing it back.

“I think you’ll find you’ve been underestimating me,” Harry said as he shot Louis a look over his shoulder.

He reached for the exact obsidian black Louis had gotten just mere weeks ago, triumphant smile on his face as soon as he registered Louis’ slack jawed expression.

He wasn’t about to fold though, so Louis shrugged as he rearranged his facial expression into something less… impressed. ‘Are you sure about that one? And don’t forget that you don’t just need black. Your greens and blues have run out too.’

His words didn’t seem to deter Harry’s enthusiasm in the slightest, as the younger lad turned back to grab a hold of a cerulean blue and a forest green can from the same brand. It made Louis’ eyes sparkle.

“There,” Harry announced proudly, lining the three cans up in front of Louis in his arms.

For a second, Louis’ thoughts drifted to why Harry was even able to hold three spraypaint cans with only one hand and what that meant, but he got his brain back on track fairly quickly.

He gave Harry a treacherous smile upon closer inspection of the cans, before shaking his head.

‘You’re wrong. Although this one’s obsidian black is great – since it’s pigmented and the pressure is great, the other two are slightly disappointing. I like the shades you selected, but you’ll see that they won’t hold up like that on our… preference of materials so to speak,’ Louis trailed off as he realized the shop’s employee was still lingering around.

‘Anyways, it’s better to take these shades from that other selection right past your shoulder. They’re a bit darker but they dry beautifully and they’re not as runny. It’ll probably remind you of actual painting,’ he continued on, pointing out the colours he’d been referring to on the shelf behind Harry.

‘We use the colour black in a much different way than in conventional art – it’s why the texture is different as well.’

Harry seemed to perk up at the mentioning of we, making Louis smile. He loved his eagerness to learn anything and everything about street art. 

 

Silently, Harry and Louis made their way out of the shop again, with Harry’s new goods stored securely in his bag. Louis wasn’t all that with fashion and clothing brands, but he could see that it was made of expensive leather. It made him wonder once more about the differences in their upbringing and background. 

“Isn’t it funny that we go to the same arts shop? Like, we could’ve met on so many different occasions here already. Maybe we even did, before, and we just don’t remember,” Harry mused excitedly.

And the things is, it _was_ funny.

It just took Harry breaking almost every etiquette rule for any respectable street artist, in order for them to actually meet face-to-face.

It also only took Harry one other bout of imbalance for him to _truly_ see Louis’s face.

And it took him a failed attempt at guessing the right paint cans for Louis to fully value their friendship.

 

Louis silently counted to ten, as he made up his mind about whether or not he was going to take a leap of faith. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret his decision in the future.

 

‘Yeah, funny. So, erm - it's Louis, by the way.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, 
> 
> My sincerest apologies for the extreme delay - it's a combination of different factors. Hopefully you're all doing well and living the good life, I'm super stressed at the moment, but I am determined to write more.   
> That being said, let me know what you think Louis is going to do?! And of course - did you like it so far? :) xx Sterre


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking the next step in relationships is always nerve-wracking, regardless of the nature of the step.

 

 

‘Yeah, funny. So, erm – it’s Louis by the way,’ he suddenly blurted out.

He had expected some sort of relief after finally saying his own name, but instead his heart kept hammering loudly in his chest. He locked eyes with Harry, who was just staring back at him with mild confusion.

 

“What do you mean, so it’s Lou-ie?” He drawled out, with a quizzical expression still on his face.

 

‘My name – I mean, well yeah, that’s my name. ‘s Louis.  Don’t tell anyone,’ he tagged on lamely, before sighing at his own incompetence at being a normal social human being.

It’d been too long, he was rusty, he guessed.

Antisocial Zayn was his only practice in London and that almost made him want to laugh at how pathetic that was. 

 

“Lou-eh? Like the French version of Lewis?”

 

Louis just nodded in response, as he realized they’d come to an abrupt halt the moment he’d said his own name. Harry seemed to be stuck in trance as he kept repeating the name, letting the syllables roll of his tongue over and over again.

 

‘Yes, so now we’ve finally been fully introduced let’s get a move on,’ Louis said impatiently, becoming anxious all over again.

 

It’d been a long time since he’d felt so nervous and stripped bare.

Which didn’t make sense, because there wasn’t anything that Louis was particularly afraid of now that Harry knew him. But, it had just been so _long_ since sharing anything with anyone. He didn’t like that. Sharing meant showing your cards, which in turn meant showing your vulnerabilities. And Louis didn’t like feeling vulnerable.

Harry seemed to sense the impatience in Louis’ tone, and abruptly stopped himself, nodding slightly.

 

“Yeah, ‘f course. What’ve you got planned today, Lou?”

Contrary to what Louis had expected to feel from Harry adopting a nickname for him out of the blue, it instilled a sense of calmness. The nickname felt normal, natural – they were friends, weren’t they? A nickname was nothing if not a perfectly acceptable thing to have for your friends.

‘I actually need to do a commissioned piece up in Shoreditch tomorrow. Wanted to have a go at some practice rounds here first, while you could do the same with the new cans,’ Louis replied.

 

He didn’t do commissioned pieces a lot, but it was a great way of making a bit of extra money. It had been a while since he’d been up there anyway.

The atmosphere was… different. There was this constant buzzing of creativity, yes, but there also seemed to be this undercurrent of commercialism that made Louis shudder.

 

See, it hadn’t really been a lie when he’d told Zayn earlier that he _was_ going to do a piece. It’s just – well, he normally never referred to commissioned pieces as an actual mural by the Tommo. It didn’t feel original like his own work did, even though Louis had enough of a reputation to have earned himself some creative freedom and leeway with regards to concepts. It just wasn’t as authentic.

But he guessed it’d be a good lesson for Harry to see the other side of the same coin. He was pretty sure that it wasn’t the direction that he’d be going in later – he was a student at one of the poshest arts colleges in the entirety of the United Kingdom, if not Europe. He wouldn’t need to do commissioned pieces; he’d just sell his own paintings and they’d be brilliant if his stroking technique was anything to go by.

 

“How does that work?”

 

The innocent question shook Louis out of his reverie, and he tried not to resent himself for thinking about something so out of reach, a dream he’d long ago given up on for himself.

 

‘There are galleries up in Shoreditch. People who want to get something done can go in and talk to whomever owns that piece of wall and make a request, as long as they pay enough money. It’s exactly like advertising. It’s either a glorified marketing ploy, or the street art’s supposed to cover up or prevent graffiti tags. Which, kind of goes against me as an artist, but you know. It pays me bills.’

 

Harry frowned as he seemed to take it all in, before nodding slowly. All it made Louis think was that he looked a bit like a disgruntled kitten.

 

“I think I remember this documentary I saw on Banksy, and that he said erm… he said that commercial success is a mark of failure for a graffiti artist,” Harry said, before almost stumbling to the ground once more as he seemed to trip over mere air.

Louis shot out a hand to steady him at the waist, giving it a small squeeze of reassurance as Harry seemed to gain his balance, before letting go.

 

It didn’t really surprise Louis that Harry’d say that. When his mum had found out he was doing street art – he’d told her about the commissioned pieces, not about the illegal work of course, and the first thing she’d asked him about was Banksy. He had this cult status, and anyone who was curious about street art would come across his name in the first Google search.

And of course Louis admired him – to be fair, Banksy was probably his favorite graffiti artist out there. But he felt that Banksy’s own fortune made it a lot easier for him to make such a statement than any struggling graffiti artist who was just trying to make ends meet. Sometimes life wasn’t fair. And sometimes you’d have to compromise. That’s just the way the world worked.  

 

‘That’s the privilege of an already established, rich, renowned artist,’ Louis snorted. ‘Of course it’s not ideal. But it pays the rent more than my shifts as a coffee barista. And valuing art doesn’t mean that it’s lost its artistic integrity. Many of the paintings made by Renaissance painters or the Dutch Masters were commissioned. Does that make it any less beautiful or valuable?’

 

“You work as a coffee barista?”

Harry completely disregarded Louis’ heartfelt comment, and chose to instead focus on the most boring fact he’d accidentally shared about his life. 

Deciding to let it slide, Louis just shrugged, ‘it’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills.’

 

It made him wonder about Harry’s life outside of art, and he had to conclude he didn’t really know that much about it. Strangely enough, that disappointed Louis.

 

“I used to work at a bakery as a baker! You know, if art doesn’t work out for us, we could always start a nice teahouse.”

 

The genuine excitement laced through Harry’s voice elicited a laugh out of Louis.

‘I’m pretty sure art will work out for you just fine. Now let’s keep moving,’ Louis said, emphasizing that he wanted to get to work. As much as Harry intrigued him and seemed to be able to make him open up quicker and easier than anyone else, it all still felt foreign yet familiar at the same time.

 

Harry acquiesced though, and let Louis take the lead towards their practice wall. He could feel his eyes on him the entire time, from the moment Louis unzipped his backpack to the moment he finished up the outline of his commissioned piece.

 

‘You know you could practice yourself,’ Louis said, not bothering to turn around and look at Harry, but opting instead to inspect his own mural for any flaws.

 

He wasn’t quite sure yet what colours he’d use to make the actual piece – an x-ray sort of vision of a hand would normally be greyscale, but he wanted it to pop.

 

“I like watching you work.”

 

The honesty laced through Harry’s voice startled Louis once more, even though he should’ve been used to it by now. He was spared of having to form a proper response, when Harry spoke up again.

 

“Hey, do you think we could call it a day after you finish that up?”

 

That made Louis turn around with a frown on his face, ‘love, you can leave anytime you want. We don’t owe each other anything, least of all the company.’ Perhaps it came out a little snappier than he’d meant to, but he couldn’t really understand why Harry would suggest something like that.

 

Wasn’t he the one who’d asked for the street art lessons in the first place?

And hadn’t he _just_ said he liked watching Louis work?

 

The realization of how he’d sounded seemed to hit Harry afterwards, as he suddenly widened his eyes comically and started shaking his head rapidly.

 

“Oh no – no, I didn’t mean like, I didn’t mean that in an offensive way. I love doing this with you and like, learning all this stuff, and getting to see you perform your art, that’s very inspiring. But, er, I have this friend ehm, and so he’s performing in Camden tonight? I forgot, but we passed this flyer, so yeah, that reminded me of it I guess and I’d love to be there when he starts.”

 

It was kind of funny to see the pout and apologetic look on Harry’s face, trying so hard to ensure Louis wasn’t hurt in any way, and that he understood what he’d actually meant.

 

‘You don’t need permission to leave Curly. Like I said, I’m not your teacher,’ he said indifferently.

He didn’t want to admit that it stung nonetheless. He’d decided on a whim to not be so stubborn and instead open up, but if that would result to the one person he found interesting to rush off – then why would he be bothered to do it again?

He would never say it out loud, but Zayn was right.

Louis hadn’t just been giving Harry these private ‘lessions’ or sessions, or whatever they were named, out of an altruistic motive to save the street art world from an accidental street art vandal.

Perhaps he’d developed a bit of affection for the eager, overenthusiastic, painstakingly honest, and admittedly beautiful Harry.    

 

“I wasn’t – I wasn’t done yet,” Harry stammered out with a disarming smile that seemed to balance between confidence and nerves. Louis just raised his eyebrows to signal for him to continue.

 

“What I was wondering, is if you wanted to come with me? I think you’d like it. In fact, I’m pretty sure you know him – he’s mentioned you once or twice. Niall, that is,” Harry concluded hopefully, looking back up at him.

 

Which.

 

That wasn’t really what Louis had been expecting.

‘Horan?’ He clarified, still wondering how the situation had suddenly involved into Harry and him potentially hanging out in a context that had very little to do with street art.

 

“That’s the one. He got picked up by Ed Sheeran’s label, and I promise he’s really good. Proper songwriter, he is.”

 

It was clear that Harry was really proud of Niall, which made Louis smile to himself – it reminded him of the pride he felt so deeply for his little sisters. That sense of loyalty alone made him nod suddenly, without even having to overthink it.

‘I went to that gig he had with Ed a couple of weeks ago – I know he’s good. You’re buying, though.’

Harry grinned eagerly in response, “no problem.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they venture outside of the carefully drawn lines and confines of spending time together whilst making art on a wall.

Harry would be lying if he would’ve said he wasn’t feeling nervous jitters course through his body as they made their way to the pub where Niall’d be playing. They were walking side by side, chatting about meaningless things. Perhaps Harry was just imagining things, but he could swear that he felt heat flaring up his arm every time Louis accidentally brushed it with his own.

He couldn’t help himself – he knew he had a tendency to become infatuated with both things and people quite easily, but something made him think that it was different this time around. Just days ago, he’d found himself mixing colours on end to recreate the colour of Louis’ eyes. It had only made him grow more frustrated, as he realized that he couldn’t get it quite right.

He hadn’t even realized what he’d been trying to do until he worked out that it was impossible to recreate the particular colour of his orbs. Mr Barts had been amused upon witnessing Harry’s struggle, and had promptly suggested for him to perhaps capture it with a camera rather than try to paint something that simply wouldn’t allow for it.

Well, and it’s not like Harry wasn’t itching to use Louis as his personal model, but he was quite sure that Louis would never agree to something like that – he cherished the weird juxtaposition of fame and anonymity that came with being a street artist.

Which led to him being even more appreciative of the fact that Louis had so easily followed along with the proposal to go see Niall. He hadn’t actually expected him to agree, had been fully ready to just smile and brush off the rejection before focusing on the art again. But Louis had definitely surprised him, and the fact that Louis had also gone to Ed’s gig just weeks ago made Harry smile even bigger.

There was so much he didn’t know about Louis, so much that he wanted to know – and with every bit of information he was granted, he continued to feel more validated in his beliefs that Louis was unique, mesmerizing and just an all-round great person that he needed in his life.

“So what did you think of Ed’s gig then? I was there as well,” Harry asked, eyes intently focused on Louis’ facial expressions.

He shrugged, before quickly turning his head to flash Harry a grin. ‘He’s quite good, isn’t he? Hard not to be impressed.’

“He’s amazing, and a great person. Very down to earth. We have matching tattoos,” Harry rambled on, before realizing that it probably sounded quite strange. To his relief though, Louis just raised an eyebrow and smirked.

‘I’m not quite sure what story I’d like to hear more – the one where you’re so obsessed you got a tattoo he already had, or the one where you somehow also met him and became friends and decided to seal that friendship with a matching tattoo.’

Harry smiled in return, before shrugging off his coat and handing it to Louis, who was looking at him skeptically. “Just take it please, I can’t show you if you don’t hold onto that for a bit,” he muttered softly – enough to make Louis accept the coat in curiosity.

Without too much ado, Harry quickly rolled up his t-shirt sleeve and pointed at the word written on his inner biceps. Louis’ eyes followed the movement, incredulously trying to make sense of the inscription, before looking back up at Harry.

It was clear he was amused, yet not quite sure whether or not Harry was joking or if it was true. ‘You’re telling me... that you have the word ‘Pingu’ tattooed on your arm and so does Ed Sheeran?’

Harry nodded, smiling at Louis’ expression, before tugging his sleeve back down. “So, after that gig Niall played with Ed, I was able to meet him and he’s just a really good lad. We got a bit drunk, and he wanted to get a tattoo and well, I decided to get one too.”

Louis shook his head in disbelief, his lips curling up into a smile. ‘I think I’m gonna need Niall to corroborate that story for me.’

It made Harry raise his eyebrows in feigned surprise at the look Louis was giving him, “you don’t believe me?”

‘Mate, you just said that you got drunk tattoos with Ed Sheeran about some weird penguin, that’s kind of unbelievable – even though I don’t doubt it’s true.’

A small, satisfied smile took over Harry’s features. He supposed Louis was right, it _was_ a strange story. But that’s just the kind of thing that Harry liked, he liked meeting strangers and befriending them. He liked sharing those scarce moments of total impulse fueled by the most genuine sense of connection and happiness and comradery. It’s why he’d been so intrigued with meeting other street artists.

Or well, just artists. They usually didn’t have the same strings attached, any sort of straitjacket that dictated who they were, or who they hung out with or what they were supposed to find normal. Harry wanted to create his own normal, independent of others, and he wanted to embrace that. He knew that perhaps some of the things he liked were unconventional – the most obvious apparently his love for street art compared to other art majors – but he was unwilling to compromise.

And so to have Louis just believe him like that, felt great. So great, that he almost walked past the pub they were meant to enter.

‘Hey Curly, this one says it’s got a blonde Irishman performing,’ Louis commented as he gently pulled on Harry’s arm.

Embarrassed at his lack of observational skills, he just nodded and marched towards the pub, opening the door for Louis so he could enter. It got him a raised eyebrow and a badly hidden smile in return as Louis slipped past him.

Upon entering, Harry immediately flitted his eyes towards the stage in the back of the pub. With a sigh of relief, Harry noted that Niall had only just begun to set up on stage and was yet to start his actual setlist. The room was filling up pretty quickly, but he guessed that there was enough time for him to buy Louis the promised drink first.

That is. If he could find Louis.

Apparently, Louis had given no mind to the fact that Harry had been shortly distracted by the stage set-up, and had instead infiltrated the throng of people whilst he hadn’t been paying attention. Slightly disappointed, and feeling stupid, as well as the first hints of an irrational fear of not being able to find him, Harry let his eyes scan the crowd.

‘Fuck,’ Harry muttered in frustration, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to ensure that it wasn’t obscuring his vision and keeping him from spotting Louis.

“Oi! There ya are!”

Even though he was perturbed by the fact he’d lost track of Louis, Harry was happy to see Niall and smiled brightly, giving him a short hug.

“Okay, what’s wrong? You look like you’re in pain,” Niall frowned.

So maybe his smile wasn’t as bright as he’d thought it to be. Harry was about to launch into an explanation when suddenly, Niall’s eyes seemed to focus on something behind him and another grin broke out on his face.

“Tommo!! Didn’t know you were coming,” he cheered, completely ignoring Harry in favour of Louis who’d apparently decided to pop up again.

‘I wasn’t, but this giant insisted on going, and I do believe he promised to buy me drinks in return for my company,’ Louis retorted dryly, but the firm hug he gave Niall made Harry think they knew each other better than they both let on.

“You know Lo--Tommo? I thought you just fantasized about his artwork,” Niall said as he turned to Harry with a shit-eating grin.

He was about to protest about being called out like that, but then realized that Niall had been about to say Louis, rather than Tommo, which only made him gasp in astonishment.

He couldn’t help but glance over at the boy in question, who had apparently also noticed the small slip-up and stood stiffly next to Niall, glaring at the oblivious Irishman.

‘Any self-respecting artist would fantasize about his artwork,’ Harry settled on in the end, well aware that Louis would fight his own battles regarding his privacy. He couldn’t deny the truth, and he was quite certain Louis knew how incredibly infatuated he’d been with him in the beginning. Even though he was probably, hopefully, none the wiser about how Harry’s infatuation had started to develop in something more akin to a crush.

“Exactly Neil, I’m sorely disappointed to hear you implying that you _don’t_ fantasize about my artwork,” Louis contributed, jostling Niall’s shoulder lightly, earning himself a frown that lasted all of one second before it evolved into a series of cackles.

‘Right, enjoy yourselves lads, see you in a bit,’ Niall said, before bouncing back towards the stage.

Louis gestured towards the bar and smiled up at Harry. “So, where’s that drink you promised me?”

It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise that Louis wasn’t going to address the fact that Niall obviously knew his name, but yet it still somewhat stung. Harry knew that he was being unreasonable, but being privileged enough to be trusted by Louis had felt like a secret between the two.

Something special.

Having to realize that maybe he wasn’t all that special, was kind of disappointing. He’d never considered the possibility of Louis having insider jokes with other people, and it bothered him that he apparently felt so possessive over his friendship with Louis. It wasn’t in Harry’s nature.  

“Come on pouty, you can’t let me wander off on my own a second time, that’s just rude,” Louis said, shaking Harry out of his thoughts.

He nodded at the smaller man, ‘Right. Drinks.’

So yeah, maybe Harry couldn’t explain why he was slightly annoyed at the fact that Louis and Niall seemed to know each other a lot better than he’d anticipated. However, he _did_ know that he was ecstatic at the idea of being able to buy Louis a drink, and hang out as proper friends. He just liked being in Louis’ presence – Louis was an enigma that kept on surprising him. And enigmas deserved the best things in the world.

“I swear it’s not a pick up line, but I have to wonder though – do you come here often?” Louis asked as they made their way through the crowd easily, even though it was clear that people were excited to see Niall play.

Harry smiled, and let out a giggle, before shaking his head as he reached the bar and motioned for Louis to choose something to drink. ‘Too bad, I love pick-up lines,’ he teased, even though he felt nerves raging through his body as the words escaped his mouth. Louis’ lips pulled into an approving smirk, which gave Harry the confidence to relax again as he continued speaking.

‘But no, I don’t tend to go to this particular pub all that often - there’s this other one just down the road where a friend of mine works. He’s very strict, but Niall and I’ve managed to weasel some free beers out of him before. Plus, he lets Niall mess around on stage quite often, which is nice,’ he explained.

Louis nodded in understanding, and was about to speak up when his eyes suddenly strayed from Harry’s face and instead landed on something behind him. Confused, Harry turned around to follow Louis’ narrowed gaze – only to be met by Liam who was obviously about to pull him into a hug.

‘Li, I didn’t know you were coming mate!’ He greeted cheerily, and reached out to quickly embrace the buff guy, before turning back to Louis.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss out on Niall’s “first actual gig that is not just as a favor for a friend”,” Liam explained, quoting the words in an unmistaken Irish accent, a small smile on his face as he regarded Louis sat on a barstool next to Harry.

‘Right – I brought another friend. This is Liam, he’s the one I was just telling you about,’ Harry introduced, suddenly not sure how he was supposed to approach Louis’ name, nor whether he was happy to have run into Liam.

“You seem familiar,” Louis blurted out, instead of introducing himself – blatantly refusing the hand that Liam had outstretched towards him.

An uneasy expression slid onto Liam’s face, as he quickly glanced at Harry before nodding slowly. ‘I’m quite sure we ran into eachother once at this paint shop? I was running errands for Harry here actually,’ he replied.

Recognition spread through Louis, as his eyes lit up in a mischievous way; before he started laughing and pulled Liam into a quick, and very unexpected hug.

“Yeah!! I remember now! You were trying to tell me what paint to buy and I was not having it, of course. I go by Tommo, nice to meet you Leemo.”

Perplexed, Harry let the information that even Liam and Louis had met prior to this night wash over him, as he watched Liam stammer out that his name wasn’t Leemo but Liam – to which Louis predictably just shrugged and insisted on calling him Leemo anyway.

‘Listen Leemo, Harry was about to buy me a drink yeah. So as a way to say sorry, Harry will also buy _you_ a pint,’ he said decisively, slyly looking over at Harry.

 

If it would’ve been anyone else, he was sure that he’d have protested. However, as it was Louis, he felt himself incapable to deny his request. Instead, he just shook his head and smiled at the sight of a slightly scared Liam standing next to Louis who had slung his arm around him and was egging him on to tell ‘something interesting’ while Harry ordered them drinks.

It was clear from Liam’s panicked glances at Harry that he had no idea how to respond, but he was luckily saved by the fact that Niall’s voice suddenly started booming through a speaker near them.

‘Here,’ Harry whispered, breath hot in Louis’ ear as he passed him his pint, taking a seat next to the smaller man. He would’ve definitely been more comfortable if he could’ve let his arm rest on the bar behind Louis’ back, but he didn’t want to invade Louis’ space too much.

Harry was hopeful, and he wouldn’t ruin that by being too forward.

 

Louis gave him a small smile, and nodded his head in thanks, before humming softly along to the song that Niall was playing. Harry did try to be a good friend and to focus on Niall’s debut – particularly when he started strumming unfamiliar tunes, a telltale sign that he was doing an original.

However, with Louis suddenly leaning back into Harry and whispering a running commentary on other patrons as well as the high quality of Niall’s set, he found his thoughts otherwise occupied.

 

Soon enough, Harry was signaling to the bartender for another round of pints, and another, and another. Up until Niall’s set ended and they then had to congratulate their Irish friend by buying him a round of shots. 

Which had lowered Harry’s inhibitions significantly.

Normally, that wouldn’t have been so bad – but with his self-awareness gone missing, he no longer could control the incessant stream of _LouisLouisLouis_ going on in his head.

 

“Lou,” he slurred, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulders – both in a certain sense of possessiveness as well as for the simple reason that he could no longer really support himself, as he tried to ask the question that had been running through his mind the entire evening.

"Louis," he repeated, eyes half-closed as he squinted to make out who was currently occupying his friend's time.

‘Yes, Hazza?’ Louis turned back from Liam, whom he’d be animatedly talking to about something to do with comics, his eyes crinkling on the side in a sign of amusement.

The nickname threw Harry off for a bit, as a confused smile took over his features.

But then he remembered what he’d wanted to ask Louis, something that also had to do with nicknames, and he pouted again.

“Lou, why ‘s it tha’ Niall knew your name?

Thought ‘t was s’posed to be a secret.

Thought I was special,” he murmured out with a defeated sigh.

So maybe he sounded like a petulant child, but he really did feel a bit hurt by the discovery that apparently everyone else also knew Louis, sometimes even longer than _he_ had known the artist.

Who looked rather surprised by the sudden questioning, and seemed to try and gauge whether or not he was joking, or if Harry was actually being serious.

Apparently Harry’s pout was enough to confirm for him that, while it was perhaps a tad dramatic, it was an issue that was apparently truly confusing Harry.

‘I’ve been an artist here for a couple of years now, love. Street artists are bound to run into each other, especially Nialler,’ he started to explain, before his eyes lit up with mischief. Louis pursed his lips, and leant into Harry’s space, tilting his head upwards so he was closer to his face.

‘Are you jealous? I promise that you’re the only one here that I actually told my name to.’

Harry couldn’t help himself, as he could feel a giddy, dimpled smile stretch across his face – preening at the statement, rather than feeling embarrassed at Louis mentioning jealousy. “Yeah?”

‘It’s really unfair how well green actually suits you,’ Louis continued on with a frown, seemingly offended by that fact himself, as he allowed himself to lean back against the barstool he'd been occupying all night.

It made Harry laugh, before shrugging. “It matches my eyes,” he wanted to say, as he slowly swayed in place – Louis immediately reaching out to steady him so he wouldn’t fall over.

The frown was gone when Harry focused on Louis’ face again, replaced by a bemused, yet somewhat concerned smile.

Somewhere far away in his mind, Harry kind of wanted to taste how that smile would feel, but thought better of it in the end.

That wasn't something friends did, he was quite sure.

He blinked twice, and realized that Louis had started talking to him once more.

‘Hm, I think it’s time to get you home so we can keep it to green eyes rather than green sick.’

While that sounded like a great idea in essence – Harry wasn’t that far gone that he couldn’t realize he had hit his limit probably three shots ago, he also hated the fact that he’d be missing out on spending more time with Louis.

He just liked being in his presence, liked seeing him interact with others, liked observing Louis just... be Louis he supposed.

 And so, Harry blurted out the only thing that would offer a solution to his internal dilemma.

 

 

“Come home with me?”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry & Louis go home together, kind of.

__

_He just liked being in his presence, liked seeing him interact with others, liked observing Louis just..be Louis._

_And so, Harry blurted out the only thing that would offer a solution to his dilemma._

_“Come home with me?”_

 

Which.

He probably should’ve worded that better.

Not that he’d be terribly opposed to _that_ kind of going home together, but he really hadn’t meant it that way.

He just didn’t want to say goodbye already. He wanted to have Louis with him so they could talk, so that he could still enjoy his company – because even though he was obviously quite drunk, he also knew he wouldn’t forget how free Louis made him feel.  

 

‘Well that’s rather forward. I s’pose you did buy me a drink, but I’m really not that kind of guy,’ Louis stated dryly, followed by a mischievous smile.  

 

It made Harry’s stomach flutter. Did he just flirt back? Or was that just a figment of Harry’s _very_ active imagination, that apparently _did_ have all sorts of scenarios in mind when it came to the going home together part.  

“S not what I meant,” he implored when Louis didn’t follow his earlier statement with a definitive answer. “I just wanna talk more.”  

He wondered whether his nerves were causing him to feel so nauseated, or if it was the alcohol at this point. Louis didn’t do much to calm them either, only causing butterflies to erupt in his stomach as the cheeky smile turned into something softer, fonder even.  

‘I know Hazza,’ he placated him as he patted Harry’s hand, before entangling their fingers carefully – as if giving him the time to stop his movements had Harry wanted to do so. 

 

He didn’t.  

 

‘Let me tell your friends that we’re taking you home, okay,’ Louis said warmly, tugging onto their now entwined hands to make sure that Harry was following him. For a second, Harry’s heart deflated as he realized that maybe Louis had just wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t get lost in his hazy, drunk state, rather than hold his hand just because.  

 

Still, he cherished the fact that Louis cared enough to do that for him, that he was protective of Harry – people’s opinions be damned. It was only after he’d settled on enjoying the touch while it lasted, that he registered the words Louis had spoken and immediately felt his brows knit together in a frown. 

 

“Hey,” he said, squeezing Louis’ hand to gain his attention before continuing. “They’re _your_ friends too, Lou.”  

 

* * *

 

 

The sincere, genuine look in Harry’s eyes as he spoke made Louis feel funny, and his own gaze dropped to where Harry had just squeezed his tattoo-adorned fingers. It’d been a long time since he’d held anyone’s hand like that, and he couldn’t quite yet explain himself why he’d initiated the contact with the curly-haired lad.  

 

_They’re your friends too._

 

Louis would’ve laughed at the words if it wasn’t painfully clear that he really believed it.

Harry really meant for those words to be true, as if one night of sharing drinks would be enough to solidify a friendship.

He wished it was that easy. Wished that Harry was right. Wished that friendships were just as they had seemed in kindergarten – where you decided to be best friends upon meeting and you’d keep your word.  

But life wasn’t like that. Friendships didn’t work like that. Or maybe Louis just didn’t work like that. Not anymore, at least.

 

Still. The fact that Harry wanted so easily to share his world with him made his skin crawl.

He just couldn’t decide yet on whether he liked that sensation or if it made him want to run away instead.  

 

So he chose not to reply to the comment, just because he didn’t know how to. Instead, he tightened his grip on Harry’s hand as he weaved a way through all the people that had gathered in the pub, trying to find the blonde tips of hair that belonged to Niall.  

‘Tommo!’  

Or the blonde tips could find them first, he supposed, as Niall quickly approached the two with a smile on his face that was threatening to take over his entire features as he took in Harry’s state.  

“Neil – we’re heading out. This one needs to get home,” Louis said, motioning towards Harry with his face.  

Niall nodded, his eyes lingering on their clasped hands. ‘Sure, d’you need any help?’  

Louis chanced a glance at Harry, who seemed to softly shake his head as if to signal that they’d be fine on their own.  

“No, you should stay out here and celebrate your gig. Where’s that friend of yours, Liam? We should let him know as well,” Louis said as he craned his neck to see if he could spot the other man he’d met earlier that night.  

 

Harry giggled at that, and let go of Louis’ hand to place it on his shoulder while he stood on his tiptoes.

‘I’m taller than you, let me have a look, yeah?’ He whispered.  

And normally someone implying that Louis wasn’t tall would’ve made him bristle and put up a hell of a fight to prove that it absolutely wasn’t true. But with Harry saying it, all he could do was pout at the implication and murmur pathetically soft about his height.    

Apparently, Harry nor Louis had really mastered the skill of whispering, as Niall seemed to suppress a laugh the moment the words 'I'm not small' escaped his lips.

Louis shot him a glare, which only caused the Irishman to turn red in return as he further tried to stifle a grin. 

 

“I actually think Liam went home already. Ran into Sophia. You know how it goes,” he spoke, once the colour of his face had slowly faded back into his normal pale complexion.

Louis assumed the latter comment was meant for Harry, since he had no idea who Sophia was.  

As he suspected, Harry pouted at Niall's words, after which his hand fell from Louis’ shoulders now that it was no longer necessary to try and scope out the place. 

‘What? I thought they were really done this time,’ he frowned.

Niall shrugged seemingly uncaring, eyes darting between the two men in front of him mischievously. 

“Well, who knows. You should just head out, the two of ya. Hope to see ya soon – let me know if you wanna see Ed play because I’ll be his opener for the next couple of months,” Niall rushed out, motioning for them to make their way out of the pub as he reached towards a random ledge where a half-empty pint had been waiting for him ever since he’d set it down to embrace Harry and Louis upon spotting them. 

 

Louis couldn’t help but notice the strange twitch in Niall’s eyelid that he’d long grown to understand as the Irishman trying to sell a little white lie. Not that he would complain about it if it meant he could spend a little more time with just Harry – it’s just…

He didn’t like that Niall had apparently already picked up on his affection for the other man.  

He wasn’t used to being so transparent.  

Zayn had called him out on it earlier, and now even Niall was obviously assuming the two of them were together, or at the very least was actively trying to push them towards.. well… _something_ that he wasn’t yet willing to label.  

Harry was oblivious to it, as he excitedly poked Louis’ biceps after having successfully draped his arm over his shoulders. 

 

“D’you like Ed, Lou? Lou, didn’t you say you went to his gig?” The use of the nickname threw Louis off once more, and he wondered why the hell he wasn’t more annoyed at Harry constantly breaking his barriers and overstepping his carefully drawn lines in terms of familiarity.  

As strange and contradictory as it was, Louis was scared of the fact that Harry somehow didn’t scare him at all.  

 

‘I did, yeah,’ he replied with an amused smile, eyes focusing on one strand of hair that had fallen out of place and was now partially blocking Harry’s eyes from view. He kind of wanted to reach out and put it back in place, but ultimately decided against it.  

 

“Did I tell you about my tattoo? It matches with Ed. It’s a friendship tattoo. Oh, oh! We should get matching tattoos,” Harry exclaimed happily, pulling on Louis’ arm as if trying to excite him for the idea.  

 

Niall laughed and shook his head, prior to confirming that Ed and Harry did indeed share the penguin tattoo.  

 

‘I don’t think getting tattoos when under the influence is the best idea, but I’ll consider it for next time Hazza,’ Louis acquiesced him, refraining from overthinking his own statement too much. Although he did pout, Harry seemed somewhat satisfied with the fact that Louis was at least considering it, and slumped in to Louis’ side. 

“Okay – I’m going to head back in if ya don’t mind, Babs is in there somewhere,” Niall pocketed his phone as he spoke, before reaching out to give Harry a one-armed hug and doing the same with Louis. 

Not that he had any idea who _Babs_ was either - much like Sophia, but Louis assumed it was Niall’s latest conquest or love interest. His mind was also too preoccupied with other things than to ponder about Niall’s love life – like trying to keep Harry upright as they made their way outside.  

It was funny how he didn’t even mind taking care of Harry like this.  

When Louis had first moved to London, he’d felt both guilt and relief at the same time at not having to take care of his little siblings 24/7. But with Harry, he just felt… at ease.  

And he didn’t really know whether he wanted to let that feeling swallow him whole, or if he wanted to escape the grip it had on him.  

Just that afternoon, he’d gotten upset about Zayn’s remarks.  

Now, he realized that maybe they rang a little truer than he’d initially thought. It did explain his own annoyance at the comments - he didn’t like people figuring things out about him before he himself had come to terms with it.  

 

Harry had rattled off his address to Louis when he’d successfully gotten them a taxi. Louis’d kept his arm around him to ensure he’d be steady while stepping into the car, but he had to admit to himself that there was no actual reason for him to keep doing so during the drive to Harry’s flat. Apart from the fact that he wanted to.  

It wasn't a particularly long drive, but within 5 minutes, Harry had managed to lull himself into sleep – his head limply falling onto Louis' shoulder.

He couldn't resist letting his hand drift off into the curls, slowly scratching the other man's head.  

The familiarity and comfort he felt in doing so almost made him want to ask the cabbie to drive another block, when the man gently reminded him they were nearing their destination.

With a small resigned sigh, he pried Harry off of him, causing him to wake up.  

 

"Wassit, Lou?"  

 

Louis couldn't help but smile at the use of the nickname, before nudging Harry a bit to stay lucid. 'Nothing, just need you to work with me a bit. We're at your place. Let me walk you up, yeah?'  

It was clear that Harry was well into the droopy, sleepy drunk phase, as he just nodded slowly, before following Louis out of the car once he'd handed over some bills to the driver.  

'Okay Curly, which direction do we need to go in?'  

Harry smiled, before nodding his head to an apartment block across the street. They were no longer holding hands, and Louis really had to refrain himself from giving in to the urge of letting his fingertips wrap around Harry's hand as their arms continued to brush on their silent walk towards the building. When the taller lad stumbled, he said nothing, but immediately put a steady hand on his back – keeping him stable. As they reached the front door, neither of them spoke, Louis silently following Harry in and placing his hand on the small of Harry's back yet again, moving for the elevator together. 

"Thank you," Harry suddenly croaked out after they'd entered the small confines of the lift, still swaying lightly on his feet as if he was having trouble keeping himself upright. Louis was pretty sure it was more due to exhaustion than alcohol at this point, but the glassy eyes staring back at him seemed to hint he was still slightly tipsy.  

Louis leaned forward to push the button of the 4th floor, as per Harry's instructions, before settling against the backside of the lift as the doors closed.  

'What for?'   

It elicited a shrug from Harry, who suddenly seemed incredibly keen on not meeting Louis' gaze.

"For coming with me tonight. I know you don't necessarily like mixing with new people."  

He wasn't wrong, but it still surprised Louis that Harry had noticed and felt inclined to say something about it.  

'You were there,' he replied, simply, because it was the truth. He'd never gone there if Harry hadn't wanted him to.  

'And I don't _dislike_ it, but I'm just... careful. Of my privacy. For obvious reasons,' he noted lamely, making an aborted hand gesture.  

 

Harry let out something that sounded suspiciously like a snort, before nodding seriously. "Of course."  

Louis wanted to retort something witty, but was interrupted from even trying when the doors opened and Harry slowly trudged towards a door that was well decorated with a lot of plants and flowers. It didn't surprise Louis in the slightest.

He was shaken out of his observations by Harry, who was hopping from one leg onto the other impatiently, as he leaned against his own door – letting out a small whine of annoyance.

 

"I can't find my keys, Lou. Help me," he said petulantly, patting over his jacket as if the keys would suddenly appear in his pockets if only he kept it up long enough.  

 

Yeah, so definitely still a tad tipsy, Louis surmised as he spotted a key label sticking out of Harry's backpocket.

Not that he was looking at Harry's bum.  

 

'What about your jeans, love,' he offered, a small smile on his face as Harry stiffened, then struggled to turn and pat his own backpockets with a huff, before pulling out the keys triumphantly. 

 

A pout made its way to his lips, as he turned to Louis.

"I knew they were there. I knew that," he insisted, while Louis tried his best not to laugh.  

'Sure, Hazza,' he placated, not resisting the urge to reach out this time, and gripped Harry’s wrist to steady it whilst he was making an attempt at pushing the key into the lock. With the added stability of his own hand, the door unlocked smoothly, and Harry stumbled inside first, followed by Louis – who made sure to take the keys out of the lock as he closed the door behind him.  

He hadn’t really planned on being inside Harry’s flat, but it seemed as if the drowsiness was slowly overtaking Harry, turning him into a weird limp noodle that needed all the support he could get.  

 

"Should we like, have a cuppa, since you're here?" Harry mumbled out, fumbling with his arm as he tried to hide the yawn that was threatening to escape his mouth mid-sentence.  

With a small grin, Louis shook his head. 'I think _you_ should have a glass of water, then head to bed.'  

Harry immediately pouted at that.

"No! I wanted to talk and hang out with you, 's why I asked you to come with. I'm not going to bed. I swear 'm not tired. Just, sit down with me for a bit yeah? I'll make us some tea,' he said firmly, before walking over to the kitchen area.    
 

While Louis was slightly worried he'd stumble over his own two legs and fall, he still let Harry go on his merry way as he regarded his unabashed movements with amusement.

Besides, if he was being honest, he just wanted to spend some more minutes in the curly lad's company.  

 

When he heard a loud clank coming from the small kitchen area, just out of view for Louis, he couldn't help but worry though, only to laugh out loud as the clank was followed almost immediately by Harry's head peeking around the corner, sheepishly telling Louis that he was alright.  

"s nothing! I just dropped the tin where I keep all the teabags. D'you like Yorkshire? That okay?"  

He just nodded doumbfoundedly, waiting with his hands clasped in his lap for Harry to return. He seemed slightly more lucid as he took a seat on the couch next to Louis, hands clasped around two hot mugs – handing one over to Louis with carefully measured movements. 

'You're a bit of a baby deer on ice, aren't you?' Louis couldn't help but tease, blowing on the tea in an effort to try and get it to cool down.  

It probably was futile, just like he was trying so hard to make himself calm down when it came to his affection for the artist.

It was as if tonight had suddenly erupted this tidal wave of feelings that was flooding his awareness, and he couldn't really stop it.  

 

And for the first time in years, he didn't really want to.  

 

So he just grinned when Harry shot him a glare, even though it was clear there wasn't any heat behind it.

Instead, the glare fell and was instantly replaced by a somewhat insecure look as Harry's eyes dipped to watch Louis take a sip of his still slightly too hot tea. 

 

"How's it taste? I should've asked. I didn't know how you took it, but you seemed the type for a splash of milk, so I just went for it," he rambled on, apparently determined to keep himself awake by talking.  

He couldn't help but smile at the hopeful, yet anxious look that had settled on Harry's face, just because of the suspense whether or not Louis'd enjoyed that little sip. 

'Really good,' he muttered.

 

To be honest, he was a bit surprised that he'd gotten his tea order right on the first try.

It had taken Zayn 3 months to figure out how to make it exactly the way Louis liked it. More often than not, Louis was the one making tea himself out of sheer frustration. It was also conveniently the only kitchen-related thing he could safely say to be an expert in – which was fine. Zayn usually brought home some of his mum's curries for the both of them.

They survived. 

 

The content smile on Harry's face after hearing he'd guessed correctly suddenly triggered Louis to spill more personal information. 'I'm from there, you know – Yorkshire.' He offered, wanting desperately for Harry's dimple to stay visible just a tad longer.  

It was weird.  

On the one hand he wouldn't want anything more than to run away and bury himself in one of his oversized hoodies. On the other hand, he wanted to be close to Harry, tell him things that he hadn't told people in the longest time.  

Things about himself.  

Not just stories.  

Truths.  

 

Harry nodded encouragingly, soaking the knowledge up like a sponge. "When's the last time you've been back?"  

 

It was funny how Harry knew not to ask any too personal questions.

This was open-ended, Louis could take the lead in how he wanted to answer, how much he wanted to give away.  

 

'For my siblings' birthday, probably about two months ago. I outgrew Doncaster a long time ago, though.'  

Harry gave a rueful smile at that, and Louis wondered if Harry loved London as much as he did, or if the boy missed Cheshire more than he let on. He didn't have to ask, because Harry just started talking again in that slow drawl of his, only exacerbated slightly by the inebriated and tired slur in his words. 

"I bet Doncaster was a lot more colourful when you were there. Lots of original young Tommo's on the walls. Wish I could go there. Wanna see it."  

Louis laughed at the sad frown that had taken residence on Harry's face at the prospect of never having seen one of Louis' earlier works.  

'Trust me, the only young Tommo's to be found in Doncaster are my siblings. Granted, they're quite vibrant and colourful and I'm sure me mum calls them a piece of work sometimes, but no. No actual murals. I only started making those when I was already in London.' 

Harry perked up at the mention of siblings, even though his body language seemed to signal that he was about ready to fall asleep right there on the couch, cup of tea still in hand.  

"You have siblings? Tell me -- tell me more," he drawled out, interrupting himself with a yawn while his eyelids were drooping close.  

It made Louis let out a snort, as he shook his head. It was pretty clear that Harry just needed to get to bed, and Louis, well, he shouldn't have even gone into the flat with Harry in the first place – if he was being honest. It was selfish to ask for more.   

'Hazza, I think you need to go to bed. We can talk about my siblings some other time.' 

The younger man stubbornly shook his head, placing a hand on Louis' thigh to keep him from standing up. The warmth from Harry's fingers seeped through his jeans effortlessly, leaving his skin feeling burning hot.  

"No, if I'm going to bed, I'll want a goodnight story."  

Louis wanted to laugh and tell him he was being ridiculous, and that Louis really was going home now.

Instead, he found himself giving Harry a fond smile and acquiescing easily with the request.

It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, he was at a recently made friend's house, apparently going to tell a story about himself – just because a boy with glassy green eyes and porcelain skin had asked him to.  

Zayn would never let him live it down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh I'm sorry for being away so long - hope you enjoyed this chapter and hopefully see you soon! Life is crazy, and a LOT is happening at the moment both privately and professionally. On top of that, we're being spoiled by music coming from Liam, Niall and Harry - and Louis' got a photoshoot/music coming up apparently, which I'm excited to see and hear all about!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've had a very difficult week with a lot of hatred and fear. But we've also seen a lot of love, and bravery , and I hope that we can continue to show that humanity will not bow for terrorism. I hope this update will bring those who need it some distraction and please choose love, choose light, choose to give and be brave whenever you can.

 

 

 

There was an annoying buzzing in Harry’s ear, making him frown as he tried to escape the sound by rolling over into bed. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he stiffened.

He was in bed. With a shock, memories of last night hit him like a freight train, and he groaned as the accompanying headache from mixing too many different sorts of alcohol starting pounding behind his eyes.

“Such an idiot,” he moaned to himself as he blinked open one eye to look at the offending buzzing object – his phone. With a short swipe on the screen, he shut off his alarm and gave the time a proper look. He had a class to go to in about an hour, and a photoshoot with Barbara right after.

He couldn’t focus on either of those two, though, when his thoughts immediately drifted back to what had happened the night prior. He’d made such a fool of himself. Inviting Louis back to his place like a desperate lovesick boy, before convincing him to tell him a fucking goodnight story. As if he was a five year old.

How embarrassing. He vaguely remembered curling up to Louis on the couch, letting his head rest in Louis’ lap – the graffiti artist stroking his hair. His cheeks heated up as he reminisced the feeling of soft, delicate fingers running through his hair, scratching at his scalp – immediately followed by a resigned feeling of sullenness as realization set in that Louis had probably just found him pathetic and hadn’t had the heart to tell him so in his loopy state of mind.

And since he couldn’t remember actually getting up from the sofa, Louis had probably tucked him into bed. He wasn’t sure if it was the thought of Louis taking care of his pathetic self, or the alcohol that made him feel nauseated, but his stomach churned in protest as he let out another disappointed whine.

He contemplated whether he should text Louis some sort of apology for being absolutely useless company, but realized soon that in the month they’d been spending time together, they never even exchanged numbers.

Sure, they’d sent each other the occasional message through Instagram, but that had been it, really. They’d developed a certain rhythm and schedule so fast, he’d never really seen the need to ask for it.

 

Harry was regretting that now. Like he was regretting a lot of things from last night. The more he thought about it, the more tidbits of memories made their way to the forefront of his mind. Like him suggesting to get matching tattoos with Louis.

He also remembered walking hand in hand with him, and feeling like he was on top of the world in that moment – so euphoric from simply linking their fingers together. He wondered if that feeling was just a figment of his imagination, and was mainly due to the alcohol he’d consumed, or if Louis had felt it too.

A small smile spread over his lips as he heaved himself out of bed, even though his head wasn’t entirely agreeing to the sudden movement.

Because Louis had told him his name.

He’d told him his name, because he'd wanted to share that with Harry.

And then, he’d told him that he was from Doncaster, and that he had a slew of siblings.

It was probably wrong to feel so victorious, just because he’d finally gotten temporary access to the precious vault that was Louis’ inner and outer workings – a privilege he was quite certain hadn’t been bestowed upon Niall either.

 

He was aware how cagey Louis was, and he felt honoured that he’d felt safe enough – trusted Harry enough, to talk about himself a bit more. All it had done for Harry was confirm that Louis was probably the most enthralling and interesting person to ever walk this earth. And that his hunger for knowing everything about the artist had only grown after he’d eagerly consumed the first tidbits of information.

All he could hope now, was that his inebriated state and inability to act like a normal human being hadn’t completely ruined his chances with Louis.

The only way to find out about that, was to contact him.

But he wanted to make sure that the chances of him making a fool out of himself again would be limited, so he decided to take his time waking up prior to writing a message.

 

Harry shuffled into his bathroom, ensuring that he had a towel ready before entering the shower. He fiddled around with the knobs, trying to set the water to the perfect temperature to ease some of the tension that was lingering in his body. Sighing he leaned his head on the cool tiles as he let the spray wash over his back, as he gathered his thoughts about the night before. The longer he was up, the more his mind seemed to clear and the more all the small details came flooding back.

Mostly, he vividly remembered how happy he’d felt just because Louis had been spending time with him. It was evident that his body agreed with him, as his morning wood twitched the moment the thought invaded his mind. Hesitantly, he brushed a hand over his groin, immediately hissing at how sensitive he was just for that soft touch.

And yeah, apparently the embarrassment he’d felt earlier that morning wasn’t keeping him from popping a boner at the thought of Louis. He knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to get off to his own sexual fantasies involving the artist, but he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t happened before. Harry’d been infatuated with him for so long, and he was carefully balancing on the precipice of that infatuation transforming into something deeper.

It only took Harry a snap second to give into the desire. He let his fingers trace over the length of his cock first, before taking a firmer grip, tugging slightly at the foreskin. If he didn’t have class to get to, he’d have taken his time, spend some time playing with his nipples, maybe his arse, but for now, a quick wank would have to do. A sigh escaped him the moment he thrust particularly hard upwards in his fist, as he stabilized himself with his other hand splayed out on the tiled wall. He couldn’t help but imagine Louis touching him, Louis’ hands circling his cock, Louis’ mouth on him, sucking and biting his skin. He imagined the scruff of Louis’ beard burning his thighs. That fantasy in particular, in which Harry would come all over his cheekbones and long eyelashes while cerulean eyes would hold his gaze unwaveringly, was what pushed him over the edge.

He hid his groan by burying his face into the crook of his arm, not wanting to let the ‘Lou’ that was threatening to spill out of him actually slip past his lips. Harry quickly finished scrubbing his body clean, letting the come that had splattered onto his hand and stomach wash away with hot water cascading down.

His mind had been peacefully blank in the aftermath of his orgasm, but as he stepped out of the shower, he wasn't quite sure whether he should've felt shame or not after fantasizing about the blue eyed artist.

Then again, frankly, he had probably already come to terms with it weeks ago that he found Louis to be the embodiment of perfection. However, this was the first time he'd actively allowed himself to picture and think of him whilst putting a hand on himself, giving in to the attraction he was feeling for him. It was exhilarating, but it was too late now to regret it – he just hoped that he'd be able to look at Louis' face without getting instantly hard again.

From the moment he'd gotten out of the shower up until preparing his breakfast and lunch, the only thoughts that seemed to be on loop in his head concerned what he was going to say to Louis now. Harry was definitely interested in pursuing the friendship and hopefully something more, so he didn't want to risk mucking it up before it had even really began.

 

In fact, now that he'd had some time to think it all over, he had to admit that a part of him had been slightly disappointed that Louis hadn't left him a message or anything. There was nothing for him to go on, aside from his own muddled memories from last night that all seemed to center around the sentiment that he'd been a drunk fool, and Louis had been a perfect gentleman. He'd made sure Harry had gotten home safely, had made sure Harry had had some water and tea, had indulged Harry's incessant need to talk and touch, and had then put him in bed, tucking him in nice and warm.

Harry had typed up a message and had deleted it right after, sighing to himself at his own incompetence, before sending out a distressed text to Niall asking for advice. The Irishman had just sent him back a string of emojis including an eggplant, followed by a voicenote that was just Niall laughing at him.

Obviously he didn't understand how important this was to Harry. With a final look at the digital clock display on the microwave in his kitchen he decided to leave, and just use his class to ponder what exactly it was he wanted to convey to Louis.

He felt like an awkward teenager.

Even though nothing serious had happened between the two, it had felt like a vulnerable moment when Louis had opened up to him.

And he wanted to honour that, cherish that, and build on that. He didn't want this to be a one-time thing – he wanted it to be a frequent thing. If he was being totally honest, he probably wanted it to be a forever thing, and that thought alone scared him. It wasn't just an infatuation anymore.

 

'Styles? Could I have a word after class?' He was shaken out of his reverie by Professor Barts addressing him.

With stained cheeks, he realized he'd been frowning hard at the lecturer while his thoughts had once again wandered back to the previous night, rather than paying attention to the large screen on which paintings were being projected. The girl he was sitting next to - he thought her name was Dua, gave him a knowing smile before pushing her notes slightly to the side so he could read them, after he'd given Professor Barts a small nod in recognition, furiously copying them down on his own notepad.

He was pretty lucky that his temporary distraction had happened in Barts' class, rather than the photography one he'd had to resit after using his street-art photos.

And Harry really didn’t have the time to fail any classes. He wanted to graduate this year. Which is why he was dreading the conversation he would undoubtedly have with his lecturer once class had ended.

Dua squeezed his shoulder as she stood up once class ended, lifting her bag from the ground. 'Don't worry so much. We all zone out once in a while. Bit uptight around here, innit?’

He grinned back up at her, shrugging slightly at her nonchalance, hoping that she was right and Professor Barts wouldn’t berate him for having lost his focus. With a little wave, he redirected his focus on packing up his stuff, prior to making his way over to his lecturer.

The smile he was given made him relax instantly, as Professor Barts motioned for him to take a seat on the tables up front.

‘No need to frown so much, Harry.’

The friendly tone in his professor’s voice at least meant that he wasn’t getting reprimanded for anything this time around.

“So you’re not going to tell me that I shouldn’t drift off during slides on Monet?” Harry asked with a hopeful smirk, to which Professor Barts let out a chuckle and shook his head.

‘I probably should, but I’m going to let you off the hook this time. I actually wanted to talk about your Blue Neighborhood series.’

“What about it?” Harry frowned, not entirely sure why his professor was bringing up the art project that had first made him realize he had maybe become slightly obsessed with the exact colour of Louis’ eyes. While it had ended up as a nice collection of paintings, the inspiration behind it was… well. Somewhat embarrassing.

He knew that he got easily infatuated, was pretty intense in his emotions and that could lead him to fixate. But he’d never had a person inspire his paintings like that. And definitely not after just a month of knowing them. It also made him more protective of those works. Barts had been the only one to see them, because he’d made them under his watchful eye – but the paintings had been stocked for a bit now. They felt too personal, too intimate for Harry to have them hang around.

 

‘My partner, Greg, is having an exhibition down at his gallery. He’s including a variety of different works, and wants to include some student projects as well. I offered up your name.’

Harry was flabbergasted.

He vaguely remembered his professor mentioning his partner in passing, but he’d never really given it much thought that this partner owned a gallery – much less the possibilities that it brought along for Barts’ students.

Apparently he took too long to respond, because his professor Barts gave him a confused, but slightly worried once-over, before speaking up again.

‘I think it’s a wonderful opportunity for you to showcase your talent. A lot of investors and fellow artists come to these exhibitions – it’ll give you a great chance to network. It’s not something you should take lightly, but I do hope you’ll consider it. I know those works are slightly personal to you, but that’s what makes them so good. There’s something about them that draws you in.’

 _Just like Louis’ eyes_ , Harry thought to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Well, I’m honoured. Obviously. I – well, I hadn’t actually considered putting those paintings in particular on display. Like, they’re not for sale. I want to keep them myself. But if that’s not an issue, I guess – I guess I’d love to be a part of the exhibition. It’s a huge compliment you’d even think of me.”

His professor just smiled knowingly, as if that was exactly the response he’d been expecting all along, and nodded.

‘Of course. You can provide your own information about the paintings, and we can add a ‘personal collection’ tag to them. Wonderful, Harry, I’m delighted that you’re a part of this. Now, the opening is in 2 weeks, since everything else has already been arranged. It’d be lovely if you’d be able to be there on the opening night. You can bring a plus one. Perhaps the inspiration behind your work?’

He grinned slyly at Harry, who wanted to protest, but found himself starting slack-jawed at his professor instead.

He couldn’t deny it though, his mind _had_ immediately wandered to Louis. Not his sister, or his parents – who surely would be interested in seeing him take part in an actual exhibition. They had been supportive of his choice of education, even though they were worried about his career prospects. The least he could do was show them what kind of world he would enter later this year, once he’d effectively graduated.

‘I’ll e-mail you with the details this afternoon, once I talk to Greg. Again, I’m pleased to have you participate. You’re a talented painter. And curious about the arts in general, that’s a great quality. Now, I won’t keep you longer, what with your busy schedule and your… extracurricular activities,’ professor Barts gestured, completely throwing Harry off once more.

He blinked once, trying to gain back his bearings in the conversation, but was easily dismissed by his professor. Who apparently had seen right through Harry – from the moment he’d been drawing cerulean eyes on the corners of his notebooks and sketchpads, and had started talking about street art. Still, he hadn’t forgotten the disdain showcased by his photography professor, so he tried to go for aloof.

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Professor Barts just grinned, ‘Greg’s gallery normally features street art and graffiti pieces too. It’s quite eclectic and all sorts of inspiring, you know, if you were interested in that form of art. Now, I’ve got another class to teach, so get out of here.’

Harry nodded dazedly, feeling his cheeks flush at the sudden exposure of his interests, mixed with the thrill of excitement of finding a place where street art was just as appreciated as traditional fine art.

With new spring in his step, he rushed out of the classroom and made his way outside to find a quiet spot to sit, before whipping out his phone.

He was about to dial his mum’s number, when he caught sight of a new DM notification. He immediately abandoned his contact list, finger instead selecting the Instagram app.

_Hope you’re not feeling too rough today, curly :)_

His stomach swooped, the urgency to call his mum momentarily forgotten. Louis had effectively solved the dilemma that had been following around ever since he woke up, but he was now presented with how to answer this text instead.

Harry bit his lip, before letting his thumb slide over the screen smoothly.

_Surprisingly, I’m good. Thanks again for taking care of me, you didn’t have to._

He’d wanted to tack on a different million questions and apologies, but he’d deleted all of those in the end – rather playing it safe, even though he desperately wanted to know how Louis’d felt about the night.

_Course I did. Gotta take good care of my apprentice, don't I?_

 

The words probably shouldn't have brought such a big smile to Harry's face, but he couldn't contain the small flutter he felt at reading the text.  Maybe he was extremely projecting, but that text read like flirting. He was about to reply, when his phone started ringing - a picture of Gemma popping up.

To be fair, he was rather confused why his sister would call him out of the blue on a Monday, but he figured it provided him with the opportunity to tell her about the exhibition.

"Hi Gem, what's up?"

'Well, I just landed a new job in London, so I thought I'd let my little brother know I'm going to be in the neighbourhood all the time now.'

Surprised, but equally excited, Harry immediately launched into congratulating her, making her promise she’d let him know when she’d have time to go look for a flat.

'Enough about me though, what's up with you little brother?' She asked after a while, and Harry smiled to himself as he started to tell her about the exhibition.

 

It hadn't really sunken in yet that actual pieces of his were going to be showcased, but the more he told Gemma about it, the more he got excited about it all. His work hanging right next to established artists, in an actual gallery – he had never expected that to happen while he was still in college.

His sister gasped at the news, possibly even more enthusiastic than Harry was himself about this new development.

To be fair, he was quite sure that even his sister had had her doubts about whether this career path would ever take him anywhere. She’d love and support him, and always be proud of him for following his heart, but Harry knew that seeing him succeed made her and his parents probably sigh in relief.

'That sounds amazing H, I'm so proud of you. Have you told Mum yet? And when’s the opening? I need to make sure I’m able to come,’ she rambled on.

It was only when she asked, that Harry realized he’d definitely already made up his mind about who he wanted to be there.

And it wasn’t his mother, or Gemma.

“I can only take one person to the opening night, and – well, er – there’s  - I mean, I guess there’s already someone taking that spot? Possibly?”

 

The line went quiet for a bit, followed by an amused grin that made Harry want to pull his hair out, knowing he’d been far too obvious and his sister wasn’t going to leave him be now.

‘Oh, I see. Good luck delivering that news to Mum, she’ll be devastated. Also, I fully expect you to elaborate on this _person_ later.’

He could feel a blush creeping onto his cheeks, making some sort of noise in agreement. He’d tell them about Louis. At some point. When he’d actually asked him to go to the opening night with him. Which would preferably double as a date of sorts. Hopefully. If he was even available that night, and would actually want to - would say yes to Harry. His thoughts were drifting away from Gemma once more, focusing on Louis – and this time he couldn’t blame alcohol or drowsiness. His sister had continued talking, but he hadn’t actually picked up anything, only tuning in again when she’d said his name.

“Hmm? Sorry, zoned out there for a bit,” he sheepishly admitted, making Gemma laugh.

‘It’s alright, I was just saying I had to go, my train’s here. Talk later, love you,’ she said, ending the phonecall after Harry had reciprocated her sentiments.

 

He closed out of his phonelog, meaning to send another DM to Louis – only to be met by a new Instagram notification from the Tommo himself.

With a frown, he wondered how he’d found the time to even make an entire mural in the short span of hours he’d had since lulling Harry to sleep just hours ago.

Maybe he hadn’t even slept, and had just gone straight from Harry’s place back into the darkness of the night to create. He had been carrying his supplies throughout the night, so it was a possibility. Or maybe, whatever artwork the photo would show him was just something old he hadn’t gotten round to posting yet?

He had to admit that Louis hadn’t posted all that much ever since they’d started doing whatever it was they were doing. It was frustrating to realize that he still felt like he didn’t know all that much about Louis. Didn’t know where he lived, didn’t know if he had a job that he’d have to get up early for, or if he only earned his money through art. But he also knew that he was extremely curious to find out and be trusted with all the big piece and little pieces that made Louis into...well. Louis.

However, he hadn’t really been expecting the picture that he was faced with.

Because Tommo usually didn’t actually make street art that included text, and he definitely didn’t make _just_ textual pieces. Yet there was an unmistakable graffiti tag proving the work to be an original, right there in the bottom corner of a mural that was exactly that – text. It was also definitely his style of writing, it reminded Harry of the couple of times that Louis had shown him how to make his own tag and had made him do practice runs of just text murals to practice shadows and contouring of letters.

It took him so long to actually register the sudden change in style, that he hadn’t even fully let the words sink in of the mural itself.

Made in the A.M, it read.

**TheTommoGraffiti:** _All my favourite conversations.._

And… yeah.

He couldn’t help but grin as he thought of all the nonsensical talks they’d been sharing late at night, and how much he’d enjoyed all of them.

Maybe Louis had enjoyed them too. 

If anything, the simple art statement by Louis solidified one thing for him.

He had it bad - real bad, for the blue-eyed artist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go. :) 
> 
> This was a slightly more timely update, wasn't it? Also, please see [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/BElOOlLxLoP/?taken-by=youngandmadeof) wonderful artwork by Bara (youngandmadeof), which is Louis working/finishing the Made in the AM graffiti piece I refer to in this chapter. 
> 
> Please leave a kudo and comment, I love reading your thoughts! xx
> 
> Also, I've recently started using tumblr more actively, so [come say hi there](http://goodmorningtoyouuniverse.tumblr.com) if you want!


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis has some heart to hearts. Not with Harry though.

 

“Mate, I feel like we haven’t really _enjoyed_ ourselves in a while,” Zayn announced as he dropped off his backpack and skateboard in the hallway, before launching himself onto the couch opposite of Louis.

He’d been rearranging his spraycans on the floor, testing them on an old bedsheet, prior to putting them on either his left or right side based on his satisfaction with the result. He merely raised an eyebrow at Zayn’s announcement. ‘I’m going to assume that this means you’ve gotten us a spliff or two?’

Zayn sighed happily and nodded once, turning his head upwards to gauge Louis’ reaction.

“I was going to suggest we use it tonight, unless you’re busy with –” Zayn trailed off, to which Louis shook his head stiffly.

Harry and him actually hadn’t seen each other since Louis had posted the photo of his mural. That was two days ago. They’d texted, yes, but Louis was pretty sure he had cocked it up when he’d sent him a text that bordered on flirting and then he hadn’t gotten anything back from Harry.

He felt quite stupid about it, because it should’ve been nothing to him. And he had been planning on going to their usual meet-up spot tonight, to show how much he didn’t care about not getting a text back at all. But maybe – well, if Zayn had a good offer (Louis could lie to himself all he want, but it couldn’t be more than good, as it surely wasn’t _better_ than seeing Harry), he’d just not go.

It was shitty, yes, but he was feeling vulnerable and more than a bit scared. It had been ages since he’d even _had_ these kind of feelings for someone else. He wasn’t quite ready to act on them when he wasn’t even sure if they were reciprocated. And well, the lack of response didn’t really do all that much to alleviate his fears.

‘Nope.’

Zayn shot him a skeptical look, and God, Louis sometimes wished his friend didn’t know him that well.

‘It’s fine, I’ll just tell him I’m not coming tonight. It’s not like – well,’ he struggled expressing himself, instead busying himself with his spray cans. He needed to get a new burnt orange, and replace the green one he had. It wasn’t mossy enough.

“It’s not like _what,_ bro? Like you're not friends at least? You spend too much on the kid for him to just be your apprentice bullshit – you know you can't fool me," he said airily, motioning towards the phone that Louis had conveniently placed screen upwards on the coffeetable right next to him.

He sighed, feeling caught out by Zayn, who had seen him looking over at his phone pathetically every 30 seconds or so, hoping it'd vibrate with a reply.

'I told him my name. So yeah, I guess you could say we’re friends,' he muttered, and was about to reach for his phone to swallow his pride and send Harry a text about his absence, when he got distracted by the muffled sound of Zayn falling off of the couch – knocking over the meticulously arranged spray cans.

'Z! Really?! I _just_ organized them,' Louis frowned, waving his arms in a exasperated manner.

“You told him your name?!" Disbelief and shock were apparent in Zayn's voice, which made Louis a little uncomfortable.

He sighed. He'd known that Zayn wouldn't just let it go. Sure, he conceded that it _was_ extremely unusual for him, but he'd still hoped that he wouldn't make a big deal out of it.

Louis busied himself with the cans, rounding the ones up that he would dispose of later, before making his way to the kitchen to rummage in the cabinets. 'I did. Do we still have garbage bags? These all need to go.'

"Louis."

Okay, so ignoring the issue wasn't a viable strategy to get Zayn to move on either. With a sigh, he set all the empty cans down on the kitchen countertop, and locked eyes with his best mate.

'Zayn.'

His friend shot him a look, then heaved his hands up in defense. "You know, I just – all I wanted to say is that I'm glad our paintbomber turned out to be a nice bloke. I reall wasn't trying to piss you off yeah? I'm happy you call him a friend."

Louis snorted, shaking his head at himself. He wanted to stop his stomach from churning, but he couldn't help it. 'Yeah, well – given that he hasn't responded to my latest text. We'll see how that whole friend thing goes.'

Zayn seemed to contemplate whether or not he’d respond to that statement, before deciding not to as he shrugged instead. “All the more reason to get high, eh?”

He couldn’t help but grin at that, raising an eyebrow at his friend as he made his way back to the sofa. ‘Didn’t think we needed to even _have_ a reason to get high. Now let me roll one,’ he spoke eagerly, ushering Zayn off towards the hallway to grab his backpack while Louis grabbed a hold of his phone.

He bit his lip, before pulling up Harry’s profile. He didn’t want to let himself overthink his message, so he just quickly started typing out a sentence, before deleting the whole thing and quickly rephrasing it, then sent it off.

_Hey, not gonna be able to make it tonight, soz._

Immediately, he put the phone away, not wanting to torture himself by obsessively checking whether or not Harry had read his message. He’d read the previous one, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t responded to that either.

Louis knew that he was being slightly overdramatic, but it’d just… it’d been so long. He felt awkward and unsure and suddenly completely vulnerable when it came to his interactions with Harry.

Instead, he put the phone away and smiled when Zayn offered him an inconspicuous looking Tupperware box. He’d also grabbed a pad of paper and some markers – sometimes they’d get more creative whilst smoking spliffs and came up with sick graffiti designs. Other times they’d come out of their haze and realized they’d done nothing but draw big, hairy all over the piece of paper.

One time their drawings had even ended up on the table. The smudged out shape was still visible if Louis squinted his eyes.

The non-permanent markers were supposed to prevent that from happening again though, and with a bowl of crisps right next to him, Louis started rolling the first blunt.

 

* * *

 

Louis was pretty stoned – he felt fuzzy and his thoughts were jumbled, movements sluggish as he reached out for his phone. The light on it had been blinking for about an hour now. Maybe longer, or maybe shorter – Louis didn’t really know? He giggled at the thought of not knowing how much time had passed, and how he ironically used his phone as a watch, before picking it up.

The light. It had been blinking, and it was starting to annoy Louis – it was distracting him from where he’d been seated drawing birds onto a piece of paper.

As soon as he’d unlocked the screen, he frowned.

He had an Instagram notification. Which – he didn’t really get why, he hadn’t posted anything on Instagram today, and he hadn’t – _oh_.

Immediately, he scrambled to open the message, eye glued to the screen as he waited impatiently for Harry’s text to load.

_Hiiii. Oh, that’s too bad. Was hoping to ask you something. Could you maybe meet me tomorrow? Like, in daylight? Or are you secretly a vampire?_

_Sorry – that was a stupid joke. I don’t even like vampires. They suck._

_Sorry that was even worse. Just. Text me please?_

He quickly glanced at Zayn, but he seemed preoccupied with drawing some sort of alien onto the notepad, frown evident on his face as he started outlining something that resembled bug eyes.

Louis hesitated for a second, then let his fingers slide across the touch screen, typing out a reply. He had no idea how much time had passed, but he did know that he wanted to send Harry an answer right away. And, apparently, Harry had already sent him three messages. Which probably meant more time had passed than the one hour Louis had _thought_ it’d been since lighting up.

Then again, they _had_ lit up two joints. And he’d definitely made at least three sketches of potential murals.

He let himself read over his text only once, not wanting to dawdle too much, before hitting send. 

_I don’t think I sparkle in the sunlight, and I don’t like the taste of blood either, so think we’re safe on the vampire front. I’ve got time around 4? That alright?_

Louis doesn’t even have to wait long for a response, because within minutes he can see the symbol change to read, and it makes him wonder why he was so anxious about having cocked things up again. He giggled to himself as he briefly imagined himself with sparkling skin, before wondering if there was a way to incorporate sparkles into his murals. He’d have to find out.

_That’s perfect. What would be okay for you?_

Louis frowned at that. What did that even mean? Okay for him what?

_I’m afraid I don’t follow, curly. Everything’s okay for me. I like everything, everything’s good._

“Who’re you texting? You’re high, Lou, probably shouldn’t text all. Like, don’t text while smoke. No, that’s not right. Don’t smoke and drive? No, that’s not right either – we don’t even have a car,” Zayn muttered as he abandoned his alien for scooting over to Louis, angling his body in such a way that he could read the DM exchange.

“Why’s this all on Instagram?”

And. That was a good question. Maybe they should exchange numbers.

‘Dunno. Never came up,’ Louis started to explain something he didn’t know the answer to, but was cut off by his phone beeping again.

_Oh, I meant a place to meet? Maybe outside the pub we went to?_

“You met at a pub? When was this?”

Louis wanted to swat Zayn away like an insistently buzzing fly, but he guessed he couldn’t do that to his friend, so he just shrugged. ‘Couple days ago,’ he hummed, drumming his fingers on his thigh as he decided whether or not this was a good development.

‘Do you think that he doesn’t want to work with me anymore? Am I getting dumped as teacher?’

Zayn just laughed, then ripped the phone out of Louis’ hand and started typing. He really regretted having lit two joints, because he wasn’t quick enough to get his phone back before Zayn had already hit send.

 _Yeah, sure, it’s a date! Let’s exchange numbers yeah? Much easier than this shit_  
  


‘ _Jesus_ , Zayn! That’s not funny! Did you really just send that?’ Louis groaned as his eyes scanned over the sentence.

His friend just shrugged innocently, pupils still blown wide from the weed, as he pulled on Louis’ shoulder to be able to watch Louis’ phone properly.

He grinned, and placed a slobbery kiss on Louis’ cheek, then pointed excitedly at the screen as it lit up with a new notification.

_Okay. Here’s my number. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow_ _J_

“See? No problem, babes,” Zayn continued with a shit-eating grin, before re-lighting the joint that he’d abandoned in favour of taking Louis’ phone just minutes ago.

Louis shook his head, before looking at the digits once more. He just hoped that whatever it was Harry wanted to discuss, it would be something positive. Though he wondered if Harry would’ve agreed to exchanging numbers if it’d have signaled the ending of them meeting up forever.

Yeah. Maybe he shouldn’t be so fatalistic.

Besides, it’s not like Louis would be devastated or anything. All he felt was just an innocent, little though admittedly slightly inconvenient crush.

It’d go away. No need to get worked up about it.

 

Maybe he just needed another hit of marihuana to calm his jitters.

 

 

* * *

 

His jitters hadn’t calmed at all. In fact, they’d only worsened, and Louis really questioned his level of maturity as he felt his head pounding. He shouldn’t have taken that final hit. He shouldn’t have listened to Zayn at all.

“You look like you’re in pain,” Bebe commented while motioning to the frown Louis was sporting, as she took a seat next to him on the couch situated outside at the back exit of the shop.

He looked over at her, and sighed, before letting his head fall back onto the cushioned backside of the old sofa.

‘I’ve a headache that’s my own fault for smoking shitty weed last night with my roommate,’ he blurted out, closing his eyes temporarily. Bebe just raised one her eyebrows at him, then tossed over a bottle of water and a freshly baked chocolate muffin.

“I guess you’ll have to take this one then, I’ll head back in for another. Can’t have you slacking off out here, it’s my turn to have a long break,” Bebe pouted, making Louis laugh.

It’d been a while since him and Bebe had worked the same shift, and he’d almost forgotten how much he missed her bubbly personality and her no-bullshit attitude. It was pretty tempting to discuss his nerves with her, if only for the fact that she’d be able to give him an outsider perspective.

However, that’d involve him telling her what he did to pass the time at night, and he couldn’t well do that, could he?

With a sigh, he took a bite out of the muffin, just as Bebe returned with another one for herself as she plopped back down on the couch next to him.

“So. What’s up? We haven’t talked in a while. What’s got you so worked up today? I haven’t heard you make a joke today, I’m almost worried,” she noted with a smile, and Louis couldn’t help but want to at least tell her _something_.

He fiddled with his muffin for a bit, before looking back at her. ‘I’m just meeting up with a mate later. He wanted to “talk”, and I don’t know what it’s about? I don’t know why it’s got me so up in me own head,’ Louis motioned with his hands, before sinking into the couch once more.

Bebe gave him a small smile, then patted Louis’ leg. “Don’t stress about it, it’s probably nothing. Also, it’s fairly obvious you like this friend.”

He lifted his head to glare at her, then groaned out loud. ‘I want to say no, but I s’pose I should listen to me mum for once and tell the truth.’

A squeal escaped her, eyes widening at his easy admittance. “That was easy, I didn’t think you’d actually admit to it,” she teased, then continued in a softer tone with an encouraging smile on her face. He’d forgotten how much he missed her and how much she reminded him of his little sister.  He really should’ve given Lottie a call the other day, but it had slipped his mind yesterday, what with the sudden joint fest.

“Whoever this friend of yours is. He must be quite something if you like him. I can’t even remember when you last went on a date, let alone _liked_ someone.”

Louis scoffed, and let out a big sigh. His phone buzzed, alerting him to the fact he had one more hour of his shift to go, before he’d agreed to meet Harry.

‘Yeah, well. He’s … a really nice lad. He’s fit as well. But, yeah, dunno, ‘s like – I guess I just like our easy banter and friendship.’

Sensing that the words had kind of escaped Louis involuntarily, Bebe reached over to lightly squeeze his arm, smiling encouragingly – safely. “You know that everyone here adores you, yeah? I’m sure this kid does too. I know the older we get it’s like you can’t be naïve anymore, can’t trust people that easily anymore – age chips away at the whole ‘I met someone in the playground and now we’ll be friends forever’ attitude. But really, why wouldn’t it still be that way? Sometimes you just – you meet people and you click. You like their energy. You should embrace it.”

He grinned at her, fidgeting with his hands before pursing his lips. ‘Easier said than done. But thanks Bee, I’m just eh- gonna head in now, finish me shift.’

She nodded, happily taking a bite of her muffin as she waved Louis back inside. He still felt slightly confused at the fact he’d had a heart-to-heart with a colleague – semi-friend? He wasn’t so sure what to call her just yet. Maybe it was the hang-over from the weed that had made him open up to her so easily.

Then again, it was also nice talking to someone that was so detached from the rest of his life. It felt different. Hell, Louis _himself_ was just different at work. Less restricted, perhaps. He was definitely still closed off – distant even – and careful, but he made it a point to at least appear like he was sharing parts of himself. Shallow, superficial parts, maybe – but still parts that made his colleagues feel like they connected to their co-worker. It was fine, a bit like theater for Louis, even. As long as his worlds didn’t clash, he was totally okay with it.

As he entered the staff room, he quickly glanced at his own reflection in the mirror and fixed his hair, before sliding the apron that was part of his work uniform back over his head. He tied it back around his midsection with practiced ease, pocketed his phone in his jeans, before making his way back to the counter.

Even though he tried to focus on the repetitive work of taking orders and making people coffee with just the right seconds of milk, which was ridiculous if you asked Louis, he couldn’t help but feel slightly jittery.

He was just wiping down the milk frother, when he heard the door chime. He wasn’t paying all that much attention, as he heard his friend Jade welcome the customer. Only when the other person started talking, did he suddenly stiffen.

“Oh thank you – well, erm. What’d you recommend? I er- I normally visit this coffee place a couple roads down? I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, ehm Coffee Kick? I just needed to clear my head, so had a bit of a walk, and well yeah. Anyways, ‘ve never been here before and, yeah, maybe I should take two? Yeah, maybe a latte and er – a tea?”

The voice was unmistakably belonged to Harry. And Louis didn’t know what to do with that. Because that was exactly what he stubbornly hadn’t wanted, what he’d naively had believed would _never_ even happen. Up until that point, his friendship or whatever it was between him and Harry had only existed within their own bubble of nightly, slightly illegal activities.

‘Lou, got that?’ Jade asked, like she always did. And Louis, like always, turned around, flashed her a smile while trying his best to ignore the fact that Harry was standing right behind the counter gawking at Louis, before turning back to fix the drinks.

“Yup, coming right up,” Louis said, before muttering a soft ‘shit’ as he spilled some milk on the counter. So maybe he was just slightly distracted.

He tried not to pay attention, but he couldn’t help but turn his head slightly to be able to hear Jade a bit better as she spoke to Harry. ‘So both to-go, what name shall I call out?’

“Ehm, Harry’s fine, thank you. Here, keep the change– I – I’m just going to wait there,” he overheard Harry reply, sounding as flustered as Louis was feeling right now.

He could feel green eyes burning into the back of his neck as he diligently worked on fixing the latte and the tea. For a second, he wondered why Harry was ordering two drinks, but then decided not to let himself even entertain the treacherous thoughts threatening to spill straight from his heart into his head.

‘D’you want milk?’ He asked, as he swiveled around, placing a latte in front of Harry, as well as another cup filled with Yorkshire tea.

It’s only when it stayed silent that he looked up, eyes slowly raking over Harry’s face, taking in his expression with slight trepidation – before settling onto Harry’s green orbs. He feigned his normal confidence, and smirked, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the slight tremble in his hands as he steadied them on the countertop.

‘Harold, do you want milk in your cuppa?’

As soon as he’d repeated the question addressed to Harry, did the man seem to realize that he’d been staring, a flush taking over his cheeks as he blinked owlishly.

“Eh, well, I mean – erm. I don’t – I don’t know? It’s -  I ordered it for like, later. ‘Cause I thought, well assumed more like, that you’d maybe like Yorkshire?”

The shy demeanor and vulnerability in his voice made him look so much younger, and suddenly Louis wondered how old Harry was at all. They’d never really discussed it. There were so many things he’d yet to learn about the curly headed man in front of him, and all Louis felt was this sudden need, an ache to know _more_. So, he tried not to focus on the restless feeling of dormant anxiety, prickling his neck at the thought of his worlds colliding – of Harry finding out where he worked.

Because how bad could that possibly be, when he’d just confessed he’d bought Louis a tea? Noone apart from his mum and Zayn had ever bought him tea.  

 ‘Oh,’ Louis blurted out, then realized that it sounded kind of weird and non-committal as soon as he caught sight of the now slightly dejected look on Harry’s face. He cleared his throat, gave Harry a gentle smile, before continuing. ‘I do. I mean, yeah, I take milk in me tea. But ‘m not allowed to like, have a drink at work. Even when it’s non-alcoholic.’

Harry’s seemed a bit disappointed at that, but nodded to himself, before letting his eyes flicker to the side, looking at the big clock that hung off the wall inside the café.

“When do you finish? I guess I was a bit too optimistic anyways, there’s still an hour before we were s’posed to meet – it’d have gone cold by then, wouldn’t it? Would’ve had to drink it myself.”

Louis grinned, and was about to retort, when Jade interrupted them – making it painfully obvious that she’d been listening in on their entire conversation so far. ‘It’s fine, Louis. I won’t tell James. It’s dead at this hour anyways. Give me your apron,’ she said authoritatively, already starting to tug on the strings to untie him.

“Oh! No, I can also just wait for Lou’s shift to end. That is, of course, if that’s okay with him?” Harry trailed off, unsurely looking over at Louis with question marks in his eyes.

And how was Louis supposed to say no to the one person who seemed to bend every rule that Louis had lived by since…well, ever since he’d left Sixth Form, probably.

Even Jade seemed taken aback at the fact that this stranger had just rocked up, had alluded to meeting Louis outside of work, and actually called him ‘Lou’ rather than by his full name. All things that never really happened. Aside from Zayn, but Zayn had worked at the café himself as well, before getting a gig as a student assistant that paid much better for much less hours.

‘No, Louis did some overtime last week, didn’t you – _Lou_?’ Her emphasis on the nickname earned Jade a glare, but he waved her off so she could actually pay attention to new customers. Louis quickly motioned for Harry to wait while he dashed into the staff room to grab his backpack, before coming back out again with his denim jacket shrugged on and a snapback placed precariously over his fringe.

Harry stretched out the cup of Yorkshire tea with a splash of milk to Louis, who reached for it with a grateful smile. Maybe it'd help cure his hangover - even though Harry's presence had made the constant buzzing in his head transform into something a little more pleasant already, he still felt wholly unprepared for whatever was going to happen.

It wasn't like they were in a relationship and Louis was about to get dumped. Louis feared he was about to experience the friend equivalent of that version, but then why had Harry bought him tea? It could've been a pity tea - but it just seemed out of character. Rationally, he knew that the worst case scenario wasn't the end of the world. So what if Harry'd decided he didn't want to help Louis do illegal things like spraypaint murals onto public property? As long as he didn't hand Louis over to the authorities, or told people his identity, or did both - yeah, okay so maybe there were  _some_ dramatic scenarios swirling in Louis' mind. 

In an attempt to calm himself down, he gripped the styrofoam cup tightly with two hands and took a sip of the still scalding hot beverage, before shortly glancing over at Harry, who was just quietly waiting for Louis to lead them wherever, it seemed.

So Louis decided to brace for whatever was to come, and took a step towards the doors of the café.

“Alright, let’s go then, Hazza.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 
> 
> Okay so for the people who follow me on Tumblr, you'll know I've been super involved with updating all things BTY and therefore have had so little time to actually get round to even opening AO3. I FINALLY had time today, and I do apologize for the delay, especially since this chapter has been ready for so long?! 
> 
> Next chapter'll be Harry's POV again, and well, things are beginning to change for them ;) I'm 3/4 done with it already, so hope to have it out there within the next 1-2 weeks. Please just send me messages on Tumblr about it - I don't mind some encouragement and gentle reminders hahaha


End file.
